?  * 
V./ 


THE  POEMS  AND   PLAYS 

OF 

William  ^aug^ 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOLUME  I 


We 
POEMS  AND   PLAYS, 


5^tlltatn 


WITH  AN   INTRODUCTION  BY 
JOHN   M.  MANLY 

VOL.1 
POEMS  AND  POETIC  DRAMAS 

p""' 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


1912 


COPYRIGHT,    1900,    BY   SMALL,    MAYNARD    &   COMPANY    (INCORPORATED) 

COPYRIGHT,    1901    AND   1904,    BY   WILLIAM   VAUGHN   MOODY 

COPYRIGHT,    1912,   BY   HARRIET   C.    MOODY 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


96" 


CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION,    BY  JOHN  M.   MANLY Vli 

6louce0ter  spoors,  ana  ®tl>er  poems? 

GLOUCESTER  MOORS 3 

GOOD   FRIDAY  NIGHT 8 

ROAD-HYMN  FOR  THE   START 12 

AN  ODE  IN  TIME  OF  HESITATION 15 

THE  QUARRY 26 

ON  A   SOLDIER  FALLEN   IN  THE   PHILIPPINES                            .  2Q 
UNTIL  THE  TROUBLING  OF  THE  WATERS         .         .         .         .31 

JETSAM 45 

THE  BRUTE 55 

THE  MENAGERIE 6l 

THE  GOLBEN  JOURNEY 68 

HEART'S  WILD-FLOWER        .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .71 

HARMONICS 73 

ON  THE  RIVER -74 

THE  BRACELET  OF  GRASS    .      . 75 

THE  DEPARTURE      .  77 

FADED  PICTURES 79 

A  GREY  DAY 80 

THE  RIDE  BACK  8 1 


253659 


vi  CONTENTS 

SONG-FLOWER   AND   POPPY     ........      85 

I.   IN  NEW  YORK 
II.   AT   ASSISI 

HOW  THE  MEAD-SLAVE  WAS   SET   FREE    .....      9! 

A  DIALOGUE  IN   PURGATORY         .......      94 

THE  DAGUERREOTYPE      .........    1  03 

£>econ&  Coming,  ana  Later  poems 

SECOND   COMING         ..........    115 

OLD   POURQUOI  ..........    121 

I  AM  THE  WOMAN  .........    127 

THE  DEATH  OF  EVE         ..........    133 

THE  THREE   ANGELS         .........    144 

A   PRAIRIE  RIDE         ..........    147 

SONG      .............    I5I 

MUSA  MERETRIX        ..........    152 

THE  COUNTING  MAN         .  .......    153 

THE  MOON-MOTH       ..........    155 

THE   FOUNTAIN  ..........    l66 

THAMMUZ      ............    177 


poetic 

THE  FIRE-BRINGER  .........    l8l 

THE  MASQUE   OF  JUDGMENT          .......   275 

THE   DEATH  OF  EVE    (A   FRAGMENT)  .....   395 


INTRODUCTION 

NOT  merely  because  William  Vaughn  Moody 
was  my  colleague  and  my  friend  do  I  wish 
to  speak  of  him,  but  because  I  feel  that  the  poetry 
he  left  us  is  of  unique  and  permanent  value  to  us 
all,  and  believe  that  it  was  growing  in  depth,  in 
sweetness,  and  in  strength  when  the  darkness  de 
scended  so  tragically  upon  him.  The  beauty  of 
poetry  as  little  needs  the  aid  of  argument  as  does 
that  of  a  rose,  and  Moody 's  poetry  is  here  to  man 
ifest  its  own  loveliness  and  power;  but  the  lover 
of  beauty  in  a  poem  or  in  a  rose  may  increase  his 
delight  by  sharing  it  with  another,  and  I,  who 
have  seen  Moody's  poetry  growing  into  fuller  and 
fuller  kinship  with  that  of  the  elder  and  most 
authentic  poets  of  our  tongue,  while  retaining  its 
own  unmistakable  individuality,  would  gladly 
share  my  vision  and  delight. 

Of  the  sanity  and  manifold  charm  of  the  man 
himself,  no  description,  much  less  so  brief  an  ac 
count  as  this  must  be,  can  give  any  adequate  idea. 
A  volume  of  his  letters  soon  to  be  published  under 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

the  care  of  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends  will 
make  it  possible  for  all  to  know  something  of  his 
vigor,  his  grace,  his  humor,  his  courage,  his  large 
humanity,  his  daily  passion  for  material  and  spirit 
ual  beauty;  and  these  letters  will  give  a  fuller 
record  of  the  notable  incidents  of  his  life  than  can 
be  attempted  here.  But  his  work  was  so  natural 
and  inevitable  a  flowering  of  his  whole  being  that 
something  must  be  said  of  his  character  and  his 
career. 

Like  so  many  men  of  unusual  intellectual  and 
emotional  powers,  Moody  was  one  in  whom  dif 
ferent  racial  or  temperamental  strains  met  and 
blended.  His  father,  Francis  Burdette  Moody, 
was  of  English  and  French  descent;  his  mother, 
Henrietta  Stoy,  of  English  and  German.  To  them 
were  born  three  sons  and  four  daughters.  The 
third  son  and  sixth  child  was  William  Vaughn, 
who  was  born  at  Spencer,  Indiana,  on  July  8, 
1869.  That  the  father  was  a  man  of  enterprise  and 
of  vigor  is  indicated  not  merely  by  his  emigration 
from  New  York  to  the  thriving  State  of  Indiana; 
but  also  by  the  fact  that  he  was  for  many  years  a 
steamboat  captain,  an  occupation  requiring  no 
little  resourcefulness,  power  of  rapid  decision,  and 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

ability  to  command  men.  To  him  his  son  pays  a 
noble  tribute  in  certain  lines  of  "The  Daguerreo 
type."  But  the  mother  doubtless  had  the  larger 
share  in  the  guidance  and  discipline  of  the  grow 
ing  boy,  and  the  profound  impression  she  left 
upon  his  mind  and  heart  is  recorded  not  only  in 
"The  Daguerreotype"  —  a  poem  so  deep  of 
thought,  so  full  of  poignant  feeling  and  clairvoy 
ant  vision,  so  wrought  of  passionate  beauty  that 
I  know  not  where  to  look  for  another  tribute  from 
any  poet  to  his  mother  that  equals  it  —  and  in  the 
veiled  but  illuminating  reference  in  "Faded  Pic 
tures,"  but  even  more  fully  in  that  love  and  rever 
ence  for  woman  which  became  fundamental  to  his 
whole  philosophy  of  life. 

About  1871  the  family  moved  to  New  Albany, 
on  the  Ohio  River,  and  there  the  mother  died  in 
1884  and  the  father  in  1886.  After  his  father's 
death  the  career  of  Moody  was  much  like  that  of 
many  another  ambitious  boy.  He  taught  for  a 
while  in  a  country  school  near  New  Albany,  and 
in  the  autumn  of  1888  went  to  Riverside  Academy , 
New  York,  where  he  helped  with  the  teaching  to 
put  himself  through  school.  From  1889  to  1893 
he  was  technically  an  undergraduate  at  Harvard 


x  INTRODUCTION 

University,  but,  having  completed  the  courses 
necessary  for  his  degree,  he  went  abroad  in  his 
senior  year  as  tutor  for  a  boy.  The  year  was  nota 
ble  for  a  walking  trip  through  the  Black  Forest 
and  Switzerland  with  Robert  Lovett  and  Norman 
Hapgood  and  L.  H.  Dow,  for  the  winter  which  he 
spent  in  Florence,  and  for  his  first  visit  to  Greece. 
In  1893-94  he  was  back  at  Harvard  as  a  member 
of  the  Graduate  School.  What  courses  of  study 
he  took  I  do  not  know,  but  I  remember  hearing  at 
the  time  from  Professor  Kittredge  of  his  insatiable 
appetite  for  mediaeval  French  romances.  At  the 
end  of  the  year  he  took  his  master's  degree  and 
became  a  member  of  the  staff  of  the  department 
of  English. 

In  the  autumn  of  1895  he  came  to  the  Univers 
ity  of  Chicago  as  instructor  in  English  and  con 
tinued  to  serve  as  instructor  and  assistant  pro 
fessor  until  1903.  His  work  as  a  teacher  was  re 
lieved  by  various  trips  in  this  country  and  abroad. 
In  June,  1896,  he  made  a  ten-day  bicycle  trip  with 
Ferdinand  Schevill  through  northern  Illinois  and 
southern  Wisconsin.  The  spring  and  summer  of 
1897  he  spent  in  Europe.  His  experiences  there 
included  a  bicycle  trip  with  Ferdinand  Schevill 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

from  Rome  to  Lake  Como,  through  the  Alban 
Hills  and  over  the  Apennines.  At  Sorrento  he  saw 
the  Eastertide  procession  that  suggested  his 
poem  "Good  Friday  Night."  During  the  bicycle 
trip  mentioned  he  sketched  the  "Road-Hymn  for 
the  Start."  The  imagery  of  the  poem  recalls  con 
ditions  and  circumstances  connected  with  Monte- 
fiascone  and  Lago  di  Bolsena.  In  June  he  was 
with  his  friends,  the  Lovetts,  at  Venice  in  the 
Casa  Frollo  on  the  Giudecca.  Later  he  visited 
Asolo  and  tramped  with  Robert  Lovett  through 
the  Dolomites.  The  same  trip  included  an  ascent 
of  the  Grosser  Venediger.  This  was  followed  by 
a  brief  residence  at  Cortina,  where  he  and  Lovett 
found  delight  in  climbing  mountains  and  in  ice- 
cold  plunges  into  a  pool  fed  by  a  neighboring 
glacier.  He  then  returned  to  Ravenna  and  thence 
bicycled  alone  across  Italy  to  Genoa.  On  account 
of  the  intense  heat  he  was  obliged  to  travel  mostly 
by  night,  and  an  illness  which  had  attacked  him 
at  Innsbruck  returned  at  Genoa.  In  the  summer 
of  1901  he  made  his  first  visit  to  Mackinac  Island, 
and  in  August  went  on  a  brief  camping  trip  in 
Colorado  with  Hamlin  Garland.  In  1902  he  was 
again  abroad  on  a  trip  to  Greece,  notable  for  a 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

lonely  ride  through  the  Peloponnesus;  but  he 
spent  much  of  his  time  in  Greece  reading  Greek 
tragedy,  and  upon  his  return  remarked  upon  the 
deeper  and  clearer  understanding  of  Greek  art 
which  came  to  one  under  Grecian  skies.  After 
giving  up  his  work  at  the  University  he  made  sev 
eral  interesting  and  important  trips,  one  in  the 
spring  of  1905  with  Ferdinand  Schevill  to  Ari 
zona.  They  spent  a  week  at  Oraibi  among  the 
Hopi  Indians,  saw  the  Spring  Dance  at  Walpi, 
and  while  there  Moody  definitely  planned  "The 
Great  Divide,"  which  was  rapidly  written  soon 
after  his  return.  In  the  spring  and  early  summer 
of  1907  he  went  with  Ridgely  Torrence  to  Tan 
gier,  Spain,  Italy,  and  France. 

These  excursions  are  all  significant  of  his  tastes 
and  of  his  fondness  for  physical  activity.  He  was 
no  mere  bookish,  indoor  poet,  but  found  his  great 
est  delight  in  swimming,  bicycling,  golf,  tennis, 
walking,  mountain-climbing,  and  such  athletic 
sports  as  are  pursued  for  the  love  of  the  sport  and 
not  the  applause  of  the  public.  Much  as  he  loved 
literature  and  art  and  all  the  fruits  of  human  cul 
ture,  exquisite  as  was  his  sensitiveness  to  rhythm 
and  melody  and  sonorous  diction  in  verse,  to  inter- 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

woven  and  complex  harmonies  in  music,  to  color 
and  composition  and  tactile  strain  in  painting,  to 
imagination  and  truth  in  all  the  arts,  his  pleas 
ure  in  the  physical  world  of  sense  was  no  less  ex 
quisite  or  keen.  Of  slightly  more  than  medium 
height,  with  a  vigorous,  well-knit  body  in  which 
every  organ  of  power  and  sensation  was  perfect, 
he  not  only  theoretically  but  in  fact  felt  that  the 
perfection  of  life  lies  in  the  realization  of  all  its 
resources  of  thought  and  emotion  and  bodily  sen 
sation.  Not  in  less  degree  than  a  Greek  of  the  age 
of  Pericles  was  he  an  epicure  of  life,  a  voluptuary 
of  the  whole  range  of  physical,  mental,  and  spirit 
ual  perfections.  To  recognize  this,  one  had  only 
to  look  upon  his  body,  sensitive  to  every  delight 
and  exuberant  with  vitality ;  to  be  suddenly  fixed 
by  his  wonderful  eyes,  light,  clear  blue,  and  shin 
ing  like  large  gems  because  of  the  sailor-like  rud 
diness  that  wind  and  sun  had  laid  upon  his  cheek 
and  brow ;  to  hear  his  eager  discourse  upon  art  or 
life,  both  of  which  to  him  were  one.  But  that  his 
sensitiveness  to  all  that  is  beautiful  was  due,  not 
to  weakness,  but  to  vigor  and  health  of  mind  and 
character,  is  shown  by  the  unwavering  determin 
ation  with  which  he  put  aside  softness  and  ease 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

and  lived  hardly  and  barely  in  order  to  do  his 
appointed  work  as  poet. 

After  1902  he  ceased  to  teach  in  the  University, 
though  the  authorities  induced  him  to  maintain 
for  some  years  a  nominal  connection,  in  the  hope 
that  he  might  resume  his  work  as  a  lecturer,  even 
if  only  occasionally  and  for  brief  periods.  But 
although  courses  were  sometimes  planned  for 
him,  they  were  always  withdrawn  before  the  time 
to  give  them  arrived.  Nothing  is  more  character 
istic  of  the  man  than  the  determination  with 
which  he  pursued  his  own  proper  career.  President 
Harper  believed  so  thoroughly  in  his  value  to  the 
University  that  he  offered  him  the  full  salary  of  a 
professor  if  he  would  continue  to  lecture  for  a 
single  quarter  each  year.  Temptation  of  this  sort 
and  offers  of  financial  assistance  from  friends  he 
resolutely  put  aside,  preferring  to  live  hardly  and 
poorly  for  the  sake  of  living  independently  and 
doing  the  work  to  which  he  had  long  since  deter 
mined  to  devote  all  his  powers.  Relief  from  the 
drudgery  of  teaching  came  with  the  publication  of 
the  History  of  English  Literature  which  he  wrote 
in  collaboration  with  Robert  M.  Lovett.  This 
book,  like  the  others  which  he  published  to  sup- 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

plement  his  salary,  —  chief  among  them  an  edition 
of  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress  with  introduction 
and  notes,  and  a  complete  edition  of  the  English 
and  Latin  poems  of  Milton,  —  was  a  brilliant  and 
scholarly  piece  of  work,  the  fruit  of  years  of  study 
and  reflection. 

There  was  never  a  more  conscientious  teacher 
than  Moody,  whether  his  task  was  lecturing  on 
English  literature  or  the  monotonous  grind  of 
theme  correction,  and  seldom  a  more  brilliant 
and  inspiring  lecturer.  Traditions  of  his  teaching 
still  linger  about  the  University,  but  even  from  a 
child  he  had  thought  poetry  was  his  proper  func 
tion  and  he  gave  himself  up  entirely  to  his  work 
as  soon  as  it  was  possible  to  do  so.  Conscientious 
and  successful  as  was  his  teaching,  his  heart  was 
never  in  it.  He  looked  forward  eagerly  to  his 
vacations  and  counted  the  days  till  the  summit  of 
the  quarter  should  be  reached  and  the  pleasant 
slope  to  the  end  should  begin.  In  January,  1898,  he 
wrote  to  a  friend,  "  I  started  in  to-day  on  another 
quarter's  work  at  the  shop  —  with  vacation  and 
restored  consciousness  three  months  away."  This 
was  partly  because  he  felt,  as  all  lovers  of  beauty 
feel,  that  the  formal  teaching  of  literature  has  in 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

it  something  destructive  and  deadening.  When, 
after  his  last  visit  to  Greece,  I  was  urging  him 
to  return  to  the  University  and  lecture  upon 
English  poetry  in  the  new  light  on  Greek  litera 
ture  which  had  come  to  him,  he  steadily  refused 
to  do  so,  and  finally  said,  "I  cannot  do  it;  I  feel 
that  at  every  lecture  I  slay  a  poet." 

Moody's  earlier  work  as  a  poet  was,  like  that  of 
Keats  and,  indeed,  many  other  writers,  purely 
experimental  and  detached  from  life.  Some  of 
these  poems  were  never  published ;  some  were  pub 
lished  in  the  Harvard  Monthly  ;  some  he  rewrote ; 
but  there  were  comparatively  few  which  in  later 
years  he  was  willing  to  see  reprinted.  To  this 
critical  attitude  is  due,  in  part,  the  fact  that, 
though  he  wrote  with  ease,  the  volume  of  short 
poems  which  he  published  in  1901,  containing  all 
he  then  wished  made  permanent,  is  small  com 
pared  with  the  output  of  much  less  fertile  and 
vigorous  artists.  The  ease  with  which  he  wrote 
may  be  inferred  from  a  remark  he  made  to  me  in 
1898.  He  had  been  reading  a  revised  version  of 
"The  Amber  Witch,"  a  poem  inspired  in  his  under 
graduate  years  by  Keats's  "La  Belle  Dame  Sans 
Merci,"  and  then  began  to  talk  of  a  play  he  was 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

planning  to  write  in  blank  verse  on  a  theme  sug 
gested  by  the  meteoric  glow  and  disappearance  of 
Schlatter  the  Faith  Healer.  Upon  my  venturing 
the  opinion  that  it  was  too  late  in  the  history  of 
the  world  to  write  plays  in  anything  but  prose, 
he  replied  that  for  such  a  subject  he  thought  blank 
verse  more  suitable  and  that  it  was  easier  to  write 
blank  verse  than  prose. 

Like  the  experimental  work  of  most  young  poets, 
Moody's  was  imitative,  but  he  did  not  even  then 
make  himself  "the  sedulous  ape"  either  of  one 
writer  or  of  many.  Traces  of  Shakespeare,  of 
Milton,  of  Keats,  of  Browning,  of  Rossetti,  of 
William  Morris,  of  Walt  Whitman,  one  may  find 
either  in  theme,  or  tone,  or  rhythm,  or,  though 
seldom,  in  phrasal  echo.  Of  Tennyson  there  is 
perhaps  not  a  trace,  for  he  had  long  been  rejected 
by  the  critical  spirits  of  the  English  Club  and  the 
Monthly  ;  and  of  Swinburne  quite  as  little,  for  the 
Swinburne  epidemic,  once  strong,  had  spent  itself 
at  Harvard  the  year  that  Moody  entered  as  a 
freshman.  Specimens,  not  of  his  earliest  work, 
but  of  work  which  still  recalls  in  some  measure 
the  manner  of  his  favorite  poets,  are  the  song  "  My 
Love  is  gone  into  the  East,"  "The  Ride  to  the 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

Lady,"  now  entitled  "The  Ride  Back,"  "How 
the  Mead-Slave  was  Set  Free,"  and  the  sonnet 
"Harmonics." 

But  early  as  these  poems  are,  it  is  singular  to 
find  in  them  so  little  of  morbidity,  so  little  of  that 
aimless  melancholy  which  marks  the  youthful 
work  of  most  poets.  Moreover,  there  is  not  one 
which  does  not  contain  some  striking  example  of 
Moody's  individuality  and  boldness  of  conception 
and  phrasing.  In  "The  Ride  Back,"  a  purely 
ornamental,  self-conscious  bit  of  pre-Raphaelit- 
ism  of  the  Morris  type,  occur  such  lines  as :  — 

About  the  dabbled  reeds  a  breeze 

Went  moaning  broken  words  and  dim, 
and 

Lewd  as  the  palsied  lips  of  hags 

The  petals  in  the  moon  did  shake, 
and 

And  songs  blown  out  like  thistle  seed ; 

and  most  wonderful  of  all  is  the  whole  of  the  fourth 
stanza  from  the  end.  Just  as  artificial  and  as  liter 
ary  in  its  inspiration  is  "  How  the  Mead-Slave  was 
Set  Free,"  but  how  characteristically  and  vividly 
conceived  are  the  pictures  of  stanzas  two  and  three 
and  stanza  eight,  and  how  true  and  rare  is  the 
observation  in  the  lines :  — 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

thrill  like  happy  things 

That  flutter  from  the  gray  cocoons 
On  hedgerows,  in  your  gradual  springs! 

And  who  but  Moody  himself  could  speak,  as  he 
does  in  "Harmonics,"  of 

such  a  laddered  music,  rung  on  rung, 

As  from  the  patriarch's  pillow  skyward  sprung, 
Crowded  with  wide-flung  wings  and  feet  of  fire? 

In  1896  came  the  first  poem  suggested  by  his 
own  experience.  In  May  of  that  year,  along  with 
a  copy  of  a  poem  called  " Wilding  Flowers,"  he 
wrote  to  his  friend  Daniel  G.  Mason:  "I  send  you 
a  poem  which  I  have  just  written  about  the  Crea 
ture  I  once  hinted  to  you  of  —  a  girl  who  haunted 
the  Symphonies  last  winter.  I  hope  you  will  like 
it,  because  it  is  almost  the  first  thing  I  have  done 
which  has  been  a  direct  impulse  from  real  life,  and 
you  know  I  have  theories  about  that."  This  poem, 
now  entitled  " Heart's  Wild-Flower,"  is  in  sub 
ject,  diction,  and  melody  not  altogether  without 
kinship  to  Rossetti,  but  the  simple  and  exquisite 
phrasing,  the  subtle  reticence  of  youthful  adora 
tion,  reach  a  climax  of  sincerity  and  individuality 
in  the  last  six  lines.  Again,  in  July  of  the  same 


xx  INTRODUCTION 

v_--»  *• 
year,  with  a  copy  of  "  Dawn  Parley,"  a  poe.n  iiot 

in  the  present  collection,  he  writes,  "I  inclose  a 
reaction  on  a  recent  notable  experience." 

From  this  time  on,  much  of  his  poetry  was  more 
/or  less  directly  suggested  by  real  incidents  or 
/  situations  of  his  life ;  and  the  large  body  of  it  which 
still  had  an  alien  origin  or  inspiration  is  shot 
through  with  transformed  emotional  images  of 
v  them.  In  some  instances  the  later  poems  go  back 
several  years  for  the  experiences  they  transcribe. 
Thus  "Old  Pourquoi,"  written  after  1901,  recalls 
an  incident  of  a  walk  from  Caudebec  to  Yvetot  in 
August,  1895.  "Good  Friday  Night,  "suggested  by 
an  Eastertide  procession  at  Sorrento  in  April, 
1897,  was  not  completed  till  the  end  of  the  year. 
The  "Road-Hymn  for  the  Start"  was  sketched 
in  May  of  the  same  year,  but  was  not  written 
until  later.  "Song- Flower  and  Poppy,"  written 
in  New  York  in  the  spring  of  1899,  is  crowded 
with  recollections  of  the  Italian  journeys  of  1897. 
On  the  other  hand,  "A  Grey  Day"  and  "Glou 
cester  Moors"  were  written  among  the  scenes 
they  transcribe;  and  the  composition  of  "The 
Daguerreotype,"  the  "Ode  in  Time  of  Hesita 
tion,"  "On  a  Soldier  Fallen  in  the  Philippines," 


INTRODUCTION  xxi 

"The  Quarry,"  and  "The  Moon-Moth,"  followed 
close  upon  the  incidents  which  gave  them  being. 
But  Moody's  poetry,  whether  due  to  a  direct 
impulse  from  life  or  suggested,  like  the  "  Dialogue 
in  Purgatory"  and  "The  Fountain"  and  "Tham- 
muz,"  by  literature,  is  notable  for  its  freedom 
from  response  to  the  obvious,  the  trivial,  the 
merely  pretty.  This  is,  no  doubt,  one  reason  why, 
for  all  his  rich  and  various  melody,  his  wealth  of 
fresh  and  vivid  imagery,  his  modernity,  his  wor 
ship  of  beauty  and  love,  his  depth  of  spiritual 
emotion,  he  is  not  popular,  is  indeed  hardly  re 
membered  by  any  except  those  to  whom  poetry 
is  not  an  idle  pastime,  but  a  passion ;  for  the  idler 
wants  art  in  all  its  forms  tabe  obvious,  and  trivial, 
and  pretty.  Moody's  themes  are  often  the  com 
mon  themes  of  poetry:  love,  patriotism,  human 
suffering,  God,  and  the  soul.  But  he  sees  them 
ever  from  some  new  angle,  he  finds  in  them  new 
significance,  he  mingles  them  with  unaccustomed 
but  predestined  associations.  His  vision  and  feel 
ing  are  not  simple,  but  interwoven  with  rich 
threads  of  reflection  and  transmuting  emotion. 
Even  the  oldest  theme  or  image  becomes  his  own, 
because  he  has  seen  and  felt  it  anew.  What  is 


xxii  INTRODUCTION 

there  more  common  than  a  street  song  that 
seizes  the  heart  of  the  listener  and  bears  it  far 
away?  Wordsworth  gives  it  perhaps  as  simple 
a  rendering  as  it  ever  had  in  poetry.  Moody's 
"Song- Flower  and  Poppy"  shows  no  more  effort 
at  complexity  than  the  "Reverie  of  Poor  Susan  " ; 
it  is  richer  in  imagery  and  in  meaning,  more 
intense,  more  significant,  just  because  the  street 
song  falls  not  on  the  ears  of  a  housemaid  but  on 
those  of  a  passionate  lover  of  beauty  and  of  life. 
All  of  us,  in  this  day  of  human  brotherhood  and 
sympathy  for  the  poor,  have  felt  that  we  have,  per 
haps,  more  than  our  share  of  the  good  things  of 
life;  but  who  but  Moody,  watching  the  spring 
come  up  the  land,  has  thought  of  his  fellowmen 
and  written :  — 

To  be  out  of  the  moiling  street 
With  its  swelter  and  its  sin! 
Who  has  given  to  me  this  sweet, 
And  given  my  brother  dust  to  eat? 
And  when  will  his  wage  come  in? 

Ages  ago  old  Omar  wrote  that 

never  blows  so  red 
The  Rose  as  where  some  buried  Caesar  bled; 

and  the 

e  tumulo  fortunataque  favilla 
Nascentur  violse 


INTRODUCTION  xxiii 

of  Persius  has  been  echoed  by  Shakespeare  and 
by  Tennyson;  but  this  pretty  conceit,  this  sweet 
and  pious  prayer,  found  new  and  deeper  signifi 
cance  when  Moody  wrote  of  the  burial  in  a  com 
mon  grave  of  Robert  Shaw  and  his  faithful  band 
of  negroes :  — 

Now  limb  doth  mingle  with  dissolved  limb 

In  nature's  busy  old  democracy, 

To  flush  the  mountain  laurel  when  she  blows 

Sweet  by  the  southern  sea, 

And  heart  with  crumbled  heart  climbs  in  the  rose. 

That  Moody's  poetry  does  not  always  reveal 
its  meaning  to  the  careless  and  casual  reader  is 
true;  to  such  perhaps  it  never  reveals  itself  en 
tirely.  This  is  due  to  several  causes.  For  one 
thing,  the  only  types  of  poetry  that  are  easy  to 
read  are  the  narrative  and  what  may  be  called 
the  universal  lyric.  Moody  rarely  wrote  narra 
tive  verse,  and  the  little  that  he  did  write  has, 
like  most  of  his  lyrics,  dramatic  quality  also,  and 
demands  that  the  reader  conceive  a  situation  and 
follow  it  in  all  its  changing  phases.  Even  Good 
Friday  Night"  and  "  Second  Coming,"  two  of 
the  simplest  as  well  as  the  profoundest  and  most 
beautiful  of  his  narrative  poems,  make  large  de- 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION 

mands  upon  the  imagination  and  the  emotions; 
and  even  larger  demands  are  made  by  "The 
Death  of  Eve"  and  "The  Moon-Moth."  Poems 
of  other  types  are  even  more  difficult.  How  many 
times  have  I  not  heard  intelligent  persons  ques 
tion  what  was  intended  by  that  marvelous  per 
sonification  of  machinery,  "The  Brute,"  that 
vision  of  the  early  roseate  hopes  for  economic 
relief,  the  grimy  present  reality,  and  the  final 
compelling  of  the  Brute  to  bring  the  good  time 
on!  Insoluble,  perhaps,  without  the  hint  given 
by  the  date,  is  "The  Quarry."  Yet  even  that 
becomes  clear  when  one  remembers  that  it  was 
then  that  the  beasts  of  prey  gathered  to  dismem 
ber  China,  and  that  the  attitude  and  intent  of  the 
Eagle  were  long  doubtful. 

Another  cause  of  difficulty  arises  from  the 
( quality  of  Moody 's  imagination  and  his  inexhaust- 
^ble  store  of  sensory  images.  He  has  few  similes 
and  his  sense  impressions  are  so  specific  that  they 
make  great  demands  upon  both  experience  and 
memory.  How  many  of  us  think  of  the  fourth 
stanza  of  "Gloucester  Moors"  as  anything  but 
a  fantastic  image?  And  yet  any  one  who  will 
steadily  watch  the  summer  clouds  as  they  sail 


INTRODUCTION  xxv 

overhead  in  a  light  wind  will  veritably  feel  the 
11  velvet  plunge  and  soft  upreel"of  the  steadfast 
earth.  Have  you  seen 

O'er  the  grey  deep  the  dories  crawl, 
Four-legged,  with  rowers  twain? 

Have  you  noted  the  ''opal  heart"  of  a  summer 
afternoon,  seen  the  "ashen  lips  "of  the  western 
storm,  watched  "the  raindrops  dot  the  sand," 
and  "the  shards  of  day  sweep  past"?  Scarcely 
a  page,  certainly  not  a  poem,  however  short, 
fails  to  yield  some  notable  phrasing  of  a  sight, 
a  sound,  an  odor  that  gives  us  a  more  vivid 
realization  of  it  than  the  object  itself  would  give, 
and  leaves  us  with  a  permanently  greater  capac 
ity  of  enjoyment  of  such  sensations. 

Like  his  imagery,  Moody's  diction  is  rich, 
condensed,  packed  with  meaning.  Any  one  of 
the  poems  will  furnish  abundant  instances.  ' '  Good 
Friday  Night"  is  full  of  them:  "twilight  circles," 
"ancient  square,"  "unspiritual,"  "throned  in  its 
hundred  candles,"  "the  doll-face,  waxen  white, 
flowered  out  a  living  dimness,"  "the  odorous 
hill,"  "heart-stung."  Often,  as  here,  the  words 
themselves  are  simple  and  separately  not  of  spe 
cial  beauty,  but  partly  from  his  native  bent,  and 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION 

partly  from  his  loving  study  of  ^Eschylus  and 
Milton,  Moody  loved  beautiful  words  for  their 
own  sakes,  words  sonorous,  or  melodious,  or  rich 
in  suggestion.  The  second  and  third  sections  of 
the  "Ode  in  Time  of  Hesitation,"  for  all  their  large 
meaning  and  their  jeweled  picturesqueness,  are 
a  veritable  symphony  of  rich  and  melodious 
words.  Of  similar  character  are  the  speeches  of 
Prometheus  in  the  first  act  of  "The  Fire-Bringer." 
Moody  has,  too,  especially  in  his  lyrics,  the 
gift  of  unaccountable  magic  —  of  simple  phrases 
which  stir  the  emotions  or  awaken  a  sense  of 
significance  far  beyond  the  power  of  the  words  or 
the  thought.  His  lyrics,  especially  the  brief  lyrics 
in  the  poetic  dramas,  are  full  of  this,  the  songs  of 
Pandora  in  "The  Fire-Bringer"  and  those  of  the 
Spirits  in  "The  Masque  of  Judgment": 

Along  the  earth  and  up  the  sky 

The  Fowler  spreads  his  net: 
O  soul,  what  pinions  wild  and  shy 

Are  on  thy  shoulders  set? 
What  wings  of  longing  undeterred 
Are  native  to  thee,  spirit  bird? 

Or  Raphael's  song  in  terza  rima  of  God's  in 
terest  and  pleasure  in  all  his  creatures  great  and 
small :  — 


INTRODUCTION  xxvii 

Down  curved  spaces  He  may  warp 
With  old  planets,  long  and  long; 
Where  the  snail  doth  tease  and  carp, 
Asking  with  its  jellied  prong, 
A  whole  summer  he  may  bide, 
Wondrous  tiny  lives  among, 
Curious,  unsatisfied. 

Or,  most  remarkable  of  all,  the  song  of  the  Re 
deemed  Spirits,  as  they  fly  past:  — i 

In  the  wilds  of  life  astray, 
Held  far  from  our  delight, 
Following  the  cloud  by  day 
And  the  fire  by  night, 
Came  we  a  desert  way.  * 
O  Lord,  with  apples  feed  us, 
With  flagons  stay ! 
By  Thy  still  waters  lead  us! 

What  resides  in  those  last  three  lines  to  make  us 
accept  their  poor  offerings  as  heavenly  food  and 
drink  and  all  the  joys  that  await  the  Redeemed? 
I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  tell,  any  more  than  I 
know  why  an  unfathomable  fount  of  sorrow  lies 
in  Wordsworth's 

Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow  / 
For  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things, 
And  battles  long  ago; 


xxviii  INTRODUCTION 

or  why  the  whole  riddle  of  the  universe  arises 
with  Shakespeare's 

We  are  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  on, 
And  our  little  life  is  rounded  with  a  sleep. 

That  the  words  all  have  meanings  and  associa 
tions  is  true,  but  the  meanings  and  associations 
are  inadequate  to  the  emotional  effect.  Is  it  the 
rhythm,  the  harmonic  overtones?  Is  it  true  that 
a  single  note  of  a  violin  will  set  a  steel  bridge  in 
vibration  or  shatter  a  stone  building  if  only  the 
right  tone  be  found? 

In  such  lyrics  as  these,  poetry  perhaps  makes 
its  nearest  approach  to  pure  music.  Its  effects  are 
those  of  rhythm,  of  melody  of  those  wonderful 
interweavings  of  present  tones  with  past  tones 
that  still  linger  in  the  brain,  if  not  in  the  ear,  and 
form  harmonies.  Such  effects  may  be  produced, 
as  we  have  seen,  almost  without  reference  to  any 
thought  or  associations  conveyed  by  the  words 
themselves;  but  they  are  naturally  most  power 
ful  and  beautiful  when  joined  with  beautiful 
thoughts  and  associations,  as  in  many  of  the 
stanzas  of  "Song- Flower  and  Poppy,"  or  in  the 
Song  of  the  Stone  Men  and  Earth  Women  in 


INTRODUCTION  xxix 

the  last  act  of  "The  Fire-Bringer,"  or  Pandora's 
songs  in  the  second  act,  or  the  song  of  the  Girl  in 
the  Prelude  to  "The  Masque  of  Judgment."' 

Much  of  Moody 's  success  in  these  lyrics,  as 
elsewhere  in  his  poetry,  comes  from  his  fearless 
mastery  of  diction  and  of  movement.  We  have 
already  seen,  in  part,  the  bold  individuality  of  his 
sense  impressions  and  of  his  imagery.  Only  a  mas 
ter  has  the  sincerity  to  see  things  freshly  and  ren 
der  fearlessly  his  vision  of  them.  And  in  expres 
sion  Moody  is  as  sincere  and  fearless  as  in  vision. 
He  gets  his  idea  and  the  phrase  which  renders  it; 
and  the  movement,  the  rhythm,  takes  care  of  itself. 
This  is  especially  evident  in  his  handling  of  the 
long  lines  of  the  lyric  portion  of  the  epic  "  Death 
of  Eve"  and  of  the  song  "I  am  the  Woman." 
Only  a  master  of  English  verse  could  make  lines 
of  such  length  move  at  all,  while  to  make  them 
run  and  dance  and  sparkle  with  light  is  a  tri 
umphant  achievement.  The  same  thing  is  true 
of  the  choral  movements  in  "The  Fire- B ringer." 
These  rhythms  may  lack  the  elaborately  varied 
structure  of  Greek  choral  movements,  but  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find  in  English  any  verse  that 
more  satisfactorily  recalls  the  Greek. 


xxx  INTRODUCTION 

Thus  far  we  have  spoken  mainly  of  the  technical 
elements  of  Moody's  poetry.  More  interesting 
and  more  important  are  his  ideas.  To  say  that 
they  are  new  would  be  the  same  as  saying  that 
they  are  unfit  for  poetry.  Art  never  deals,  never 
can  deal,  with  ideas  that  have  not  already  been 
associated  with  powerful  human  emotions.  But 
Moody's  ideas,  though  familiar  and  indeed  in 
many  cases  ancient  themes  of  art,  are  made  new 
and  vital  by  subjection  to  his  temperament  and 
culture  and  by  association  with  the  elements  of 
his  spiritual  life.  In  later  years  his  main  themes 
were  social  and  economic  injustice,  patriotism, 
the  heart  of  woman,  and  the  relations  of  God  and 
the  soul,  the  meaning  of  human  life.  To  the  re- 
conception  of  all  these  large  issues,  he  brought 
the  richest  intellectual  and  emotional  endowment 
possessed  by  any  American  poet. 

Hints  have  already  been  given  of  his  classical 
culture,  one  of  the  most  important  formative 
forces  of  his  art.  The  influence  of  ^schylus  is 
evident  in  his  diction,  his  music,  and  his  imagery, 
but  most  powerful  and  most  evident  is  the  influ 
ence  of  the  BacchcB  of  Euripides.  It  appears  not 
only  in  the  Prelude  to  "  The  Masque  of  Judgment " 


INTRODUCTION  xxxi 

and  the  songs  and  choruses  of  "The  Fire- B  ringer," 
but  probably  motived  the  choice  of  Thammuz 
as  a  subject,  though  the  subject  be  Biblical,  and 
certainly  aided  the  union  of  religious  mysticism 
and  joy  in  sensuous  life  which  is  the  dominant 
note  of  all  Moody's  later  work.  Indeed  the 
Bacchce  seems  to  have  meant  even  more  to  Moody 
than  to  Shelley,  and  that  is  saying  much.  He  was 
an  excellent  classical  scholar  when  he  went  up  to 
Harvard.  But  for  his  later  and  deeper  interest 
in  Greek  literature  he  was  largely  indebted  to 
Trumbull  Stickney,  whose  influence  upon  him 
Moody  rated  high,  and  whose  untimely  death 
affected  him  greatly.  With  Stickney  he  read  or 
reread  the  whole  body  of  Greek  Tragedy  in  1902 
at  Paris. 

Moody's  knowledge  of  English  literature  of  all 
periods  and  of  mediaeval  French  romance  has  also 
been  indicated.  He  was  equally  at  home  in  modern 
French  and  German  literature ;  and  he  had  caught 
the  very  spirit  and  austere  manner  of  Dante,  as 
his  "Dialogue  in  Purgatory"  witnesses.  In  the 
summer  of  1 894  he  was  reading  Spanish  and  sketch 
ing,  as  I  learn  from  Mr.  Mason.  Whether  he  pur 
sued  the  study  of  Spanish  literature  further,  I  do 


xxxii  INTRODUCTION 

not  know;  but  in  1903  he  took  up  painting  after 
an  interval  of  many  years,  and  produced  work  so 
true  and  so  well  composed  that  several  profes 
sional  painters  urged  him  to  devote  himself  en 
tirely  to  painting. 

But  his  culture  was  not  merely  classical  and 
artistic.  The  theory  of  evolution  with  all  its  im 
plications  is  implicit  in  "The  Menagerie,"  and, 
despite  an  antique  cosmology  retained  for  poet 
ical  purposes,  runs  through  "The  Fire-Bringer" 
and  "The  Masque  of  Judgment."  Modernity  is, 
indeed,  the  note  of  all  his  thinking.  His  dream  of 
the  city  beautiful  as  the  final  work  of  the  Brute  is 
the  latest  word  of  sociology;  as  his  dream  of  lei 
sure  and  intelligence  and  self-control  and  the 
enjoyment  of  nature  as  rights  of  all  men  has  made 
"Gloucester  Moors"  a  favorite  poem  with  work- 
(  ers  in  the  slums.  His  patriotism  —  passionate 
and  beautiful  —  derives  much  of  its  passion  and 
beauty  from  his  sense  of  the  opinion  of  mankind, 
his  desire  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world  his 
beloved  land  shall  stand  up  clean  and  pure  and 
beautiful,  shall  hold  the  Philippines  for  no  sordid 
motives,  shall  refrain  from  intervention  in  the  dis 
memberment  of  China  for  no  base  fear. 


INTRODUCTION  xxxiii 

Walter  Pater  has  somewhere  said  that  no  great 
political  poem  can  be  written  while  men  still  care 
for  the  issues  involved.  This  seems  like  a  dictum 
uttered  by  the  way  to  inclose  some  special  case. 
Certainly  Moody's  political  poetry  —  the  "Ode 
in  Time  of  Hesitation,"  "On  a  Soldier  Fallen  in 
the  Philippines,"  and  "The  Quarry"  — was  writ 
ten  and  set  forth  while  the  public  mind  was  still 
divided ;  and  however  much  men  then  differed  as 
to  the  actions  discussed,  no  one  could  deny  the 
beauty,  the  power,  or  the  lasting  significance  of 
the  poems.  We  may  all  become  reconciled  to  the 
holding  of  the  islands  and  the  partition  of  China 
as  inevitable,  but  we  shall  never  be  able  to  min 
imize  the  large  moral  issues  which  at  the  moment 
were  involved  or  to  remain  cold  to  Moody's  clear 
and  moving  statement  of  them. 

The  largest  literary  plan  of  Moody's  career  and, 
though  uncompleted,  the  fullest  expression  of  his 
vision  of  life,  is  the  trilogy  which  was  to  consist 
of  "The  Fire- B ringer,"  "The  Masque  of  Judg 
ment,"  and  "The  Death  of  Eve."  The  sequence 
of  these  is  subject  to  the  logic  of  his  solution  of 
life,  not  to  the  chronology  of  action  or  of  composi 
tion.  To  be  judged  fairly,  they  must  be  taken  not 


xxxiv  INTRODUCTION 

as  separate  and  complete  wholes  but  as  members 
of  a  trilogy,  the  final  word  of  which  was  to  be 
spoken  at  the  end  of  the  last.  The  trilogy,  more 
over,  being  Moody 's  vision  of  life  as  a  whole,  can 
hardly  be  understood  without  some  further  refer 
ence  to  his  temperament  and  the  influences  of  his 
childhood.  He  was,  as  we  have  seen,  a  pure  pagan 
in  his  sensitiveness  to  beauty  of  all  kinds,  but  he 
was  also  temperamentally  a  mystic,  one  who, 
without  resort  to  ascetic  austerities,  though  he 
may  not  have  felt  the  divine  warmth  in  his  breast, 
heard  the  divine  music,  tasted  the  divine  sweet 
ness,  or  been  surrounded  by  heavenly  odors,  at 
least  saw,  both  in  youth  and  in  maturer  age,  with 
his  physical  eyes  the  habitants  of  heaven.  Such 
a  combination  is  strange  enough,  but  in  addition, 
Moody  was  born,  as  we  must  remember,  in  the 
United  States  of  America  about  the  middle  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  He  was  therefore  born  and 
brought  up  as  a  Puritan.  Whether  the  ideals  of 
his  childhood  came  from  north  or  from  south, 
this  is  true.  Much  has  been  written  about  Puri 
tan  and  Cavalier  in  the  history  of  this  -country, 
but  it  is  all  fallacious;  their  ideals  were,  except 
superficially,  the  same;  you  had  only  to  scratch 


INTRODUCTION  xxxv 

a  Cavalier  ever  so  lightly  to  find  below  the  surface 
a  Puritan  in  full  theological  panoply.  This  early 
training,  these  early  associations,  left  an  indelible 
impress  upon  Moody.  His  task,  as  poet,  was  either 
to  reject  one  or  more  of  these  elements  or  to  unify 
them ;  but  he  could  not  reject  any  of  them,  and  his 
whole  nature  called  for  the  unification  of  them. 
He  was  not  content  —  few  of  us  are  —  to  make  his 
heart  a  battleground  for  his  temperament  and 
his  training.  So  he  fused  his  ancient  cosmology 
and  theology  with  his  evolutionary  theories,  re- 
charactered  his  God,  as  so  many  of  us  have 
done,  and  achieved  a  poetic  solution  of  the  uni 
verse. 

This  solution,  with  the  problems  which  throw 
it  into  relief,  he  set  forth  in  a  trilogy  of  poetic 
dramas.  These  dramas  contain  much  of  his  finest 
poetry,  lyric,  reflective,  and  —  what  is  none  too 
common  in  poetic  drama  —  dramatic;  and  besides 
they  exhibit  a  large  and  steady  increase  of  strength 
and  control,  with  no  diminution  of  any  of  the 
poet's  powers.  That  Moody  was  preoccupied  with 
such  questions  as  these  dramas  discuss,  appears 
in  a  number  of  his  shorter  poems,  —  in  the  "  Road- 
Hymn  for  the  Start,"  in  "Good  Friday  Night," 


xxxvi  INTRODUCTION 

in  his  patriotic  poems,  in  the  experimental  and 
unsatisfactory  "Until  the  Troubling  of  the  Wa 
ters,"  in  "Song- Flower  and  Poppy,"  and,  if  we 
accept  "The  Ride  Back"  as  symbolic  of  the  soul's 
return  to  God,  in  it  also. 

All  three  of  the  dramas  are  in  large  measure 
symbolic,  and  should  be  interpreted  and  judged 
as  such.  Strictly  dramatic  and  subject  to  the 
laws  of  dramatic  speech  and  action  they  were 
never  intended  to  be,  as  was  shown  in  the  drama 
first  written  and  published,  "The  Masque  of 
Judgment,"  by  the  presence  of  such  dramatis  per 
sona  as  the  Spirits  of  the  Throne-Lamps,  the  Lion 
and  the  Eagle  of  the  Throne,  and  Spirits  of  the 
Saved  and  of  the  Lost;  by  the  predominance  of 
descriptive,  expository,  and  lyric  poetry,  and  by 
the  very  title  of  the  drama.  The  critic  may  prefer 
dramatic  action  to  broad  oratorio-like  movement; 
but  the  poet  has  the  right  to  choose  his  form  and 
medium  and  to  be  judged  by  his  success  in  that. 
Strictly  speaking,  "The  Masque  of  Judgment" 
is  in  structure  and  persona  more  like  a  mediaeval 
myst'ere  than  a  masque,  but  Moody,  who  was  fam 
iliar  with  these  forms  of  drama,  chose  the  term 
"masque"  to  indicate  the  symbolic  character  of 


INTRODUCTION  xxxvii 

his  technique  and  to  justify  the  large  majesty  of 
the  action. 

The  order  of  the  members  of  the  trilogy  is  at 
first  a  little  confusing:  neither  in  date  of  composi 
tion  nor  in  theme  is  chronology  regarded.  "The 
Masque  of  Judgment,"  ranging  in  dramatic  time 
from  just  before  the  Incarnation  of  Christ  to  the 
Evening  of  the  Day  of  Judgment,  and  first  in  or 
der  of  composition,  is  logically  the  second  member 
of  the  trilogy.  "The  Fire-Bringer,"  dealing  with 
the  myth  of  Prometheus  and  therefore  hardly 
capable  of  adjustment  to  any  time  scheme  of  a 
Christian  cosmogony,  was  second  in  time  of  com 
position,  but  is  logically  the  first  member  of  the 
trilogy.  The  third  member  of  the  trilogy,  "The 
Death  of  Eve,"  was  unfortunately  left  fragment 
ary,  only  the  first  act  having  been  completed.  As 
these  relations  have  occasioned  difficulty  to  some 
readers,  it  may  be  well  to  give  a  brief  statement 
of  Moody 's  plan  of  the  trilogy  as  a  whole,  premis 
ing  that  the  precise  development  of  the  final  theme 
had  changed  more  than  once  in  his  conception  and 
might  conceivably  have  changed  again. 

The  central  or  dominant  thought  of  the  trilogy 
is  the  inseparableness,  and,  in  a  certain  sense,  the 


xxxviii  INTRODUCTION 

unity  of  God  and  man.  This  thought  is  set  forth 
in  the  first  member,  "The  Fire-Bringer,"  through 
the  reaction  on  the  human  race  of  the  effort  of 
Prometheus  to  make  man  independent  of  God ;  in 
the  second  member,  "The  Masque  of  Judgment," 
through  a  declaration  of  the  consequences  to  God 
himself  that  would  inevitably  follow  his  decree 
for  the  destruction  of  mankind ;  in  the  third  mem 
ber,  "The  Death  of  Eve,"  it  was  intended  to  set 
forth  the  impossibility  of  separation,  the  complete 
unity  of  the  Creator  and  his  creation. 

Despite  the  fact  that  these  poems  were  from 
the  beginning  known  to  be  members  of  an  organic 
plan,  each  of  the  two  has  been  interpreted  as  if  it 
were  in  itself  a  complete  expression  of  Moody's 
thought,  instead  of  a  phase  of  its  development.  It 
is  to  be  noted  that,  although  Pandora  is  a  prom 
inent  figure  in  "The  Fire-Bringer,"  and  in  many 
ways  anticipates  the  feelings  and  attitudes  finally 
expressed  through  Eve,  Prometheus  is  the  domin 
ant  figure,  and  the  poem  closes  with  a  triumphant 
and  somewhat  insolent  chorus  of  Young  Men  just 
awakened  to  power  and  sensual  delight.  Through 
out  the  second  drama,  Raphael  is  the  dominant 
figure.  Despite  his  archangelic  nature  and  his  kin- 


INTRODUCTION  xxxix 

ship  with  God  as  the  first  of  his  creatures,  his  long 
and  watchful  care  of  man  has  made  him  love  and 
pardon  even  man's  blindnesses  and  weaknesses; 
and  torn  as  his  heart  is  by  his  love  for  both  God 
and  man,  he  and  Uriel  and  the  Spirits  of  the  Throne- 
Lamps  join  in  expressing  the  desolation  in  Heaven 
as  it  becomes  evident  that  the  destruction  of  man 
involves  the  annihilation  of  God  also. 

The  third  jmpTryfar  of  the  trilogy  was  to  centre 
upon  Eve,  who,  being  the  means  of  separation  of 
man  from  God,  is  the  appropriate  and  necessary 
means  of  reconciliation.  She,  having  survived 
"ages  of  years,"  has  undergone  a  new  spiritual 
awakening,  and  with  clearing  vision  sees  that  her 
sin  need  not  have  been  the  final,  fatal  thing  it 
seemed;  that  God's  creatures  live  by  and  within 
his  being  and  cannot  be  estranged  or  divided  from 
him.  (Seeing  this  dimly,  she  is  under  the  compul 
sion  of  a  great  need  to  return  to  the  place  where 
her  defiant  thought  had  originated  and  there  de 
clare  her  new  vision  of  life.1}  She  seeks  among  her 
kindred  for  one  with  understanding  and  courage, 
to  accompany  her;  and  being  often  refused,  she 
accepts  finally  the  companionship  of  the  young 
est  of  her  descendants,  Jubal,  —  a  lad  of  spiritual 


xl  INTRODUCTION 

insight,  a  poet  and  musician,  —  and  with  him  sets 
out  to  find  Cain  and  take  him  with  her  into  the 
lost  Paradise  for  the  supreme  reconciliation.  The 
acceptance  of  her  command  by  Cain  and  "the  ex 
pression  by  Jubal  of  the  new-found  joy  of  living 
close  the  first  act  in  its  present  form.  A  conclud 
ing  lyric,  sung  by  Jubal  as  he  leads  the  little  maid 
Abdera  up  to  the  strong,  mysterious  city  of  Cain, 
was  unfortunately  never  written.  The  other  acts 
of  this  part  of  the  trilogy,  two  in  number,  were  to 
be  diversified  by  many  illuminating  incidents, 
among  them  the  instinctive  wandering  of  the  age- 
stricken  Adam  back  to  the  Garden,  ostensibly  fol 
lowing  Eve,  but  really  yearning  forward  to  par 
ticipate  in  the  new  and  glorious  solution  of  life. 
In  the  third  act  there  was  to  be  a  song  by  Eve, 
the  burden  of  which  would  be  the  inseparableness 
of  God  and  man,  during  which,  as  she  rises  to  a 
clearer  and  clearer  view  of  the  spiritual  life,  she 
gently  passes  from  the  vision  of  her  beholders; 
while,  delicately  symbolizing  the  permanence 
and  beauty  of  the  earth,  Jubal  and  Abdera  draw 
together  with  broken  words  of  tenderness. 

The  full  vision  of  Eve,  as  has  been  said,  never 
found  lyric  expression,  but  one  may  find  anticipa- 


INTRODUCTION  xli 

tions  of  its  thought,  if  not  of  its  probably  elabor 
ate  and  jubilant  form,  in  the  wonderful  song  of 
Pandora,  who  in  so  many  ways  expresses  the 
beauty  and  power  of  woman.  The  poem,  beauti 
fully  simple  in  structure  and  in  diction,  indicates 
in  its  parallel  phrasing  the  identity  of  the  thoughts 
and  desires  of  God  and  man. 

Pandora  (sings) 

I  stood  within  the  heart  of  God ; 
It  seems  a  place  that  I  had  known: 
(I  was  blood-sister  to  the  clod, 
Blood-brother  to  the  stone.) 

I  found  my  love  and  labor  there, 
My  house,  my  raiment,  meat  and  wine, 
My  ancient  rage,  my  old  despair,  — 
Yea,  all  things  that  were  mine. 

I  saw  the  spring  and  summer  pass, 
The  trees  grow  bare,  and  winter  come; 
All  was  the  same  as  once  it  was 
Upon  my  hills  at  home. 

Then  suddenly  in  my  own  heart 

I  felt  God  walk  and  gaze  about; 

He  spoke ;  His  words  seemed  held  apart 

With  gladness  and  with  doubt. 

"Here  is  my  meat  and  wine,"  He  said, 
"My  love,  my  toil,  my  ancient  care; 


xlii  INTRODUCTION 

Here  is  my  cloak,  my  book,  my  bed, 
And  here  my  old  despair. 

"Here  are  my  seasons:  winter,  spring, 
Summer  the  same,  and  autumn  spills 
The  fruits  I  look  for;  everything 
As  on  my  heavenly  hills." 

Moody's  conception  of  God  was  not,  for  all  his 
insistence  upon  the  inseparableness  of  God  and 
man,  pantheistic;  indeed,  it  was  not  a  formal 
philosophical  conception,  but  a  poetical  vision 
incorporating  the  most  diverse  elements  of  cul 
ture.  It  must  never  be  forgotten  that  in  his  sensi 
tiveness  to  beauty  and  his  sense  of  the  eternal 
value  of  beauty  he  was  a  pagan ;  by  nature  also  he 
was  a  mystic,  with  a  feeling  of  the  reality  and 
nearness  of  God  and  of  his  own  capacity  for  direct 
vision  of  Him  and  communication  with  Him. 
These  elements  of  pagan  "joy  of  living"  and  of 
mystic  ecstasy  were  helped  into  union  by  the  in 
fluence  of  Platonism  and  of  the  Bacchce  of  Eu 
ripides.  God  figures  ambiguously  in  his  poetry: 
sometimes  as  the  Puritan  God,  whom  he  does  not 
love  and  in  whom  he  does  not  believe ;  sometimes 
as  the  no  less  anthropomorphic  God  from  whom 
he  cannot  keep  his  fellowship  and  love. 


INTRODUCTION  xliii 

The  tremendous  part  which  woman  plays  in 
Moody's  poetry  and  in  his  solution  of  the  problem 
of  life  is  worthy  of  special  attention.  In  the  first 
place,  there  is,  as  we  have  already  seen,  scarcely 
any  hint  in  Moody's  writings  of  sick  and  doubtful 
love,  the  weak  sentimentality  which  is  the  main 
stock  in  trade  of  so  many  poets.  This  is  due  to  the 
sanity  of  his  mental  and  emotional  natures,  for  he 
was  a  man  of  unusual  sexual  interest  and  sexual 
power,  and  he  celebrated  love  as  the  universal 
Mother,  the  glorious  and  all-powerful  being  of 
whom  Lucretius  sang.  Furthermore,  woman,  as 
idealized  by  him,  is  a  far  different  creature  from 
the  bloodless  angel  who  has  been  the  subject  of  so 
many  futile  songs.  Woman,  as  Moody  conceived 
her,  is  glorious  and  wonderful,  not  because  of  the 
lack  of  human  and  even  special  weaknesses,  but 
because  of  the  possession  of  human  and  special 
powers.  What  he  conceives  her  to  be  he  has  set 
forth  in  many  a  poem,  but  most  conspicuously  in 
the  Girl's  song  in  the  Prelude  to  "The  Masque  of 
Judgment,"  in  the  Girl's  song  on  pages  57,  58,  of 
"The  Fire-Bringer,"  in  the  epic  vision  of  "The 
Death  of  Eve,"  and,  above  all,  in  that  marvelous 
outburst  of  varied  melody,  "I  am  the  Woman." 


xliv  INTRODUCTION 

Only  a  word  can  be  said  of  his  work  as  a  writer 
of  prose  plays.  The  impulse  to  write  the  two 
he  wrote  was  imperative  and  irresistible.  They 
embody  important  phases  of  his  thought,  and 
they  show  a  power  of  humor  and  a  capacity  for 
dealing  with  the  homely  and  familiar  as  well  as 
the  poetical  which  some  critics  were  disposed  to 
deny  to  him.  They  are  now  generally  recognized 
as  among  the  most  encouraging  signs  of  the  pos 
sibility  of  an  American  drama  that  shall  be  at 
once  popular,  powerful,  and  worthily  conceived 
and  written.  Some  persons  have  supposed  that 
Moody  was  seduced  by  the  phenomenal  success 
of  "The  Great  Divide"  into  the  hasty  composi 
tion  of  another  play.  But,  as  I  have  said,  he 
discussed  the  plan  of  "The  Faith  Healer"  with 
me  in  the  autumn  of  1898,  and  even  before  that 
he  had  discussed  it  with  Mr.  Mason.  That  this 
play  was  not  a  popular  success  was  due,  I  think, 
to  Moody's  refusal  to  use  the  sensational  means 
of  music  and  an  excited  crowd  at  the  beginning  of 
the  first  act  necessary  to  establish  the  emotional 
atmosphere  which  alone  could  have  prepared  the 
audience  to  receive  the  theme  sympathetically. 

But  even  before  this  play  was  staged  or  even 


INTRODUCTION  xlv 

completed,  he  had  definitely  determined  to  return 
to  poetry  as  his  proper  lifework.  What  he  might 
have  done  had  years  of  vigor  been  granted  him 
we  can  in  part  infer  from  the  increase  in  beauty 
and  power  shown  in  his  latest  work.  He  was 
growing  in  vigor  and  depth  of  thought,  in  breadth 
of  vision,  in  sensitiveness  to  beauty,  and  in  tech 
nical  power  up  to  the  very  time  of  his  fatal  attack, 
in  the  summer  of  1909.  Under  the  care  of  Harriet 
C.  Brainerd,  —  for  years  a  constant  source  of 
strength  and  inspiration  as  his  dearest  friend, 
and  for  a  few  brief  months  his  devoted  partner 
in  a  marriage  of  ideal  sweetness  and  unity  of  feel 
ing,  —  he  sought  vainly  for  restoration  to  health 
and  strength,  but  the  end  came  at  Colorado 
Springs  on  the  seventeenth  of  October,  1910. 

That  a  man  so  endowed  in  body,  heart,  mind, 
and  soul  should  be  taken  away  in  the  very  flower  of 
his  manhood  is  a  loss  to  the  world ;  that  so  strong 
and  sweet  a  soul  is  with  us  here  no  more  is  an 
irreparable  loss  to  those  who  knew  and  loved 
him.  But  Moody,  though  he  did  not  finish  his 
work,  had  lived  a  life  of  singular  richness  and 
fullness.  A  strong,  as  well  as  a  fine  spirit,  he  had 
never  compromised  with  circumstances  or  fate, 


xlvi  INTRODUCTION 

and  he  could  well  say  at  the  end,  as  he  said  long 
before  in  "Song- Flower  and  Poppy":  — 

Heart,  we  have  chosen  the  better  part! 
Save  sacred  love  and  sacred  art, 
Nothing  is  good  for  long. 


GLOUCESTER    MOORS 


GLOUCESTER   MOORS 

A  MILE  behind  is  Gloucester  town 
Where  the  fishing  fleets  put  in, 
A  mile  ahead  the  land  dips  down 
And  the  woods  and  farms  begin. 
Here,  where  the  moors  stretch  free 
In  the  high  blue  afternoon, 
Are  the  marching  sun  and  talking  sea, 
And  the  racing  winds  that  wheel  and  flee 
On  the  flying  heels  of  June. 

/    Jill-o'er-the-ground  is  purple  blue, 
Blue  is  the  quaker-maid, 
The  wild  geranium  holds  its  dew 
Long  in  the  boulder's  shade. 
Wax-red  hangs  the  cup 
From  the  huckleberry  boughs, 
In  barberry  bells  the  grey  moths  sup, 
Or  where  the  choke-cherry  lifts  high  up 
Sweet  bowls  for  their  carouse. 

Over  the  shelf  of  the  sandy  cove 
Beach-peas  blossom  late. 


4  GLOUCESTER   MOORS 

By  copse  and  cliff  the  swallows  rove 

Each  calling  to  his  mate. 

Seaward  the  sea-gulls  go, 

And  the  land-birds  all  are  here; 

That  green-gold  flash  was  a  vireo, 

And  yonder  flame  where  the  marsh-flags  grow 

Was  a  scarlet  tanager. 

This  earth  is  not  the  steadfast  place 

We  landsmen  build  upon; 

From  deep  to  deep  she  varies  pace, 

And  while  she  comes  is  gone. 

Beneath  my  feet  I  feel 

Her  smooth  bulk  heave  and  dip; 

With  velvet  plunge  and  soft  upreel 

She  swings  and  steadies  to  her  keel 

Like  a  gallant,  gallant  ship. 

• 

These  summer  clouds  she  sets  for  sail, 

The  sun  is  her  masthead  light, 

She  tows  the  moon  like  a  pinnace  frail 

Where  her  phosphor  wake  churns  bright. 

Now  hid,  now  looming  clear, 

On  the  face  of  the  dangerous  blue 

The  star  fleets  tack  and  wheel  and  veer, 


GLOUCESTER  MOORS  5 

But  on,  but  on  does  the  old  earth  steer 
As  if  her  port  she  knew. 

God,  dear  God !  Does  she  know  her  port, 
Though  she  goes  so  far  about? 
Or  blind  astray,  does  she  make  her  sport 
To  brazen  and  chance  it  out? 
I  watched  when  her  captains  passed: 
She  were  better  captainless. 
Men  in  the  cabin,  before  the  mast, 
J3ut  some  were  reckless  and  some  aghast, 

And  some  sat  gorged  at  mess. 

' 

By  her  battened  hatch  I  leaned  and  caught 

Sounds  from  the  noisome  hold,  — 

Cursing  and  sighing  of  souls  distraught 

And  cries  too  sad  to  be  told. 

Then  I  strove  to  go  down  and  see; 

But  they  said,  "Thou  art  not  of  us!" 

I  turned  to  those  on  the  deck  with  me 

And  cried,  "Give  help!"  But  they  said,  "Let  be: 

Our  ship  sails  faster  thus." 

Jill-o'er-the-ground  is  purple  blue, 
Blue  is  the  quaker-maid, 


6  GLOUCESTER  MOORS 

The  alder-clump  where  the  brook  comes  through 

Breeds  cresses  in  its  shade. 

To  be  out  of  the  moiling  street 

With  its  swelter  and  its  sin! 

Who  has  given  to  me  this  sweet, 

And  given  my  brother  dust  to  eat? 

And  when  will  his  wage  come  in? 

Scattering  wide  or  blown  in  ranks, 

Yellow  and  white  and  brown, 

Boats  and  boats  from  the  fishing  banks 

Come  home  to  Gloucester  town. 

There  is  cash  to  purse  and  spend, 

There  are  wives  to  be  embraced, 

Hearts  to  borrow  and  hearts  to  lend, 

And  hearts  to  take  and  keep  to  the  end,  — 

O  little  sails,  make  haste! 

But  thou,  vast  outbound  ship  of  souls, 

What  harbor  town  for  thee? 

What  shapes,  when  thy  arriving  tolls, 

Shall  crowd  the  banks  to  see? 

Shall  all  the  happy  shipmates  then 

Stand  singing  brotherly? 

Or  shall  a  haggard  ruthless  few 


GLOUCESTER  MOORS  7 

Warp  her  over  and  bring  her  to, 
While  the  many  broken  souls  of  men 
Fester  down  in  the  slaver's  pen, 
And  nothing  to  say  or  do? 


V 


GOOD   FRIDAY  NIGHT 

AT  last  the  bird  that  sang  so  long 
In  twilight  circles,  hushed  his  song: 
Above  the  ancient  square 
The  stars  came  here  and  there. 

Good  Friday  night !  Some  hearts  were  bowed. 
But  some  amid  the  waiting  crowd 
Because  of  too  much  youth 
Felt  not  that  mystic  ruth; 

And  of  these  hearts  my  heart  was  one : 
Nor  when  beneath  the  arch  of  stone 
With  dirge  and  candle  flame 
The  cross  of  passion  came, 

Did  my  glad  spirit  feel  reproof, 
Though  on  the  awful  tree  aloof, 
Unspiritual,  dead, 
Drooped  the  ensanguined  Head. 

To  one  who  stood  where  myrtles  made 
A  little  space  of  deeper  shade 


GOOD   FRIDAY  NIGHT 

(As  I  could  half  descry, 
A  stranger,  even  as  I), 

I  said,  "These  youths  who  bear  along 
The  symbols  of  their  Saviour's  wrong, 
The  spear,  the  garment  torn, 
The  flaggel,  and  the  thorn,  — 

"Why  do  they  make  this  mummery? 
Would  not  a  brave  man  gladly  die 
For  a  much  smaller  thing 
Than  to  be  Christ  and  king?" 

He  answered  nothing,  and  I  turned. 
Throned  in  its  hundred  candles  burned 
The  jeweled  eidolon 
Of  her  who  bore  the  Son. 

The  crowd  was  prostrate;  still,  I  felt 
No  shame  until  the  stranger  knelt; 
Then  not  to  kneel,  almost 
Seemed  like  a  vulgar  boast. 

I  knelt.  The  doll-face,  waxen  white, 
Flowered  out  a  living  dimness;  bright 


io  GOOD   FRIDAY  NIGHT 

Dawned  the  dear  mortal  grace 
Of  my  own  mother's  face. 

When  we  were  risen  up,  the  street 
Was  vacant;  all  the  air  hung  sweet 
With  lemon-flowers;  and  soon 
The  sky  would  hold  the  moon. 

More  silently  than  new-found  friends 
To  whom  much  silence  makes  amends 
For  the  much  babble  vain 
While  yet  their  lives  were  twain, 

We  walked  along  the  odorous  hill. 
The  light  was  little  yet;  his  will 
I  could  not  see  to  trace 
Upon  his  form  or  face. 

So  when  aloft  the  gold  moon  broke, 
I  cried,  heart-stung.   As  one  who  woke 
He  turned  unto  my  cries 
The  anguish  of  his  eyes. 

"Friend!  Master!"   I  cried  falteringly, 
"Thou  seest  the  thing  they  make  of  thee, 


GOOD   FRIDAY  NIGHT  n 

Oh,  by  the  light  divine 

My  mother  shares  with  thine, 

"  I  beg  that  I  may  lay  my  head 
Upon  thy  shoulder  and  be  fed 
With  thoughts  of  brotherhood!" 
So  through  the  odorous  wood, 

More  silently  than  friends  new-found 
We  walked.   At  the  first  meadow  bound 
His  figure  ashen-stoled 
Sank  in  the  moon's  broad  gold. 


ROAD-HYMN   FOR  THE  START 

LEAVE  the  early  bells  at  chime, 
Leave  the  kindled  hearth  to  blaze, 
Leave  the  trellised  panes  where  children  linger  out 

the  waking- time, 
Leave  the  forms  of  sons  and  fathers  trudging 

through  the  misty  ways, 

Leave  the  sounds  of  mothers  taking  up  their  sweet 
laborious  days. 

Pass  them  by!  even  while  our  soul 
Yearns  to  them  with  keen  distress. 
Unto  them  a  part  is  given ;  we  will  strive  to  see  the 

whole. 

Dear  shall  be  the  banquet  table  where  their  sing 
ing  spirits  press; 

Dearer  be  our  sacred  hunger,  and  our  pilgrim 
loneliness. 

We  have  felt  the  ancient  swaying 
Of  the  earth  before  the  sun, 
On  the  darkened  marge  of  midnight  heard  sidereal 
rivers  playing; 


ROAD-HYMN   FOR  THE  START      13 

Rash  it  was  to  bathe  our  souls  there,  but  we 

plunged  and  all  was  done. 
That  is  lives  and  lives  behind  us  —  lo,  our  journey 

is  begun! 

Careless  where  our  face  is  set, 
Let  us  take  the  open  way. 
What  we  are  no  tongue  has  told  us :  Errand-goers 

who  forget? 
Soldiers  heedless  of  their  harry?   Pilgrim  people 

gone  astray? 

We  have  heard  a  voice  cry  "Wander!"  That  was 
all  we  heard  it  say. 

Ask  no  more:  't  is  much,  't  is  much! 
Down  the  road  the  day-star  calls; 
Touched  with  change  in  the  wide  heavens,  like  a 

leaf  the  frost  winds  touch, 
Flames  the  failing  moon  a  moment,  ere  it  shrivels 

white  and  falls; 

Hid  aloft,  a  wild  throat  holdeth  sweet  and  sweeter 
intervals. 

Leave  him  still  to  ease  in  song 
Half  his  little  heart's  unrest: 


14      ROAD-HYMN   FOR  THE  START 

Speech  is  his,  but  we  may  journey  toward  the  life 
for  which  we  long. 

God,  who  gives  the  bird  its  anguish,  maketh  no 
thing  manifest, 

But  upon  our  lifted  foreheads  pours  the  boon  of 
endless  quest. 


AN  ODE  IN  TIME  OF  HESITATION 

(After  seeing  at  Boston  the  statue  of  Robert  Gould  Shaw, 
killed  while  storming  Fort  Wagner,  July  18,  1863,  at  the 
head  of  the  first  enlisted  negro  regiment,  the  Fifty-fourth 
Massachusetts.) 


BEFORE   the  solemn    bronze   Saint   Gaudens 

made 

To  thrill  the  heedless  passer's  heart  with  awe, 
And  set  here  in  the  city's  talk  and  trade 
To  the  good  memory  of  Robert  Shaw, 
This  bright  March  morn  I  stand, 
And  hear  the  distant  spring  come  up  the  land; 
Knowing  that  what  I  hear  is  not  unheard 
Of  this  boy  soldier  and  his  negro  band, 
For  all  their  gaze  is  fixed  so  stern  ahead, 
For  all  the  fatal  rhythm  of  their  tread. 
The  land  they  died   to  save  from   death   and 

shame 
Trembles  and  waits,  hearing  the  spring's  great 

name, 
And  by  her  pangs  these  resolute  ghosts  are  stirred. 


16,    AN  ODE   IN  TIME  OF  HESITATION 

II 

Through  street  and  mall  the  tides  of  people  go 

Heedless;  the  trees  upon  the  Common  show 

No  hint  of  green;  but  to  my  listening  heart 

The  still  earth  doth  impart 

Assurance  of  her  jubilant  emprise, 

And  it  is  clear  to  my  long-searching  eyes 

That  love  at  last  has  might  upon  the  skies. 

The  ice  is  runneled  on  the  little  pond ; 

A  telltale  patter  drips  from  off  the  trees; 

The  air  is  touched  with  southland  spiceries, 

As  if  but  yesterday  it  tossed  the  frond 

Of  pendant  mosses  where  the  live-oaks  grow 

Beyond  Virginia  and  the  Carolines, 

Or  had  its  will  among  the  fruits  and  vines 

Of  aromatic  isles  asleep  beyond 

Florida  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 

Ill 

Soon  shall  the  Cape  Ann  children  shout  in  glee, 
Spying  the  arbutus,  spring's  dear  recluse; 
Hill  lads  at  dawn  shall  hearken  the  wild  goose 
Go  honking  northward  over  Tennessee ; 
West  from  Oswego  to  Sault  Sainte-Marie, 


AN   ODE   IN  TIME  OF  HESITATION     17 

And  on  to  where  the  Pictured  Rocks  are  hung, 

And  yonder  where,  gigantic,  wilful,  young, 

Chicago  sitteth  at  the  northwest  gates, 

With  restless  violent  hands  and  casual  tongue 

Moulding  her  mighty  fates, 

The  Lakes  shall  robe  them  in  ethereal  sheen; 

And  like  a  larger  sea,  the  vital  green 

Of  springing  wheat  shall  vastly  be  outflung 

Over  Dakota  and  the  prairie  states. 

By  desert  people  immemorial 

On  Arizonan  mesas  shall  be  done 

Dim  rites  unto  the  thunder  and  the  sun; 

Nor  shall  the  primal  gods  lack  sacrifice 

More  splendid,  when  the  white  Sierras  call 

Unto  the  Rockies  straightway  to  arise 

And  dance  before  the  unveiled  ark  of  the  year, 

Sounding  their  windy  cedars  as  for  shawms, 

Unrolling  rivers  clear 

For  flutter  of  broad  phylacteries; 

While  Shasta  signals  to  Alaskan  seas 

That  watch  old  sluggish  glaciers  downward  creep 

To  fling  their  icebergs  thundering  from  the  steep, 

And  Mariposa  through  the  purple  calms 

Gazes  at  far  Hawaii  crowned  with  palms 

Where  East  and  West  are  met,  — 


i8    AN   ODE   IN   TIME  OF  HESITATION 

A  rich  seal  on  the  ocean's  bosom  set 
To  say  that  East  and  West  are  twain, 
With  different  loss  and  gain : 
The  Lord  hath  sundered  them;  let  them  be  sun 
dered  yet. 

IV 

Alas !  what  sounds  are  these  that  come 

Sullenly  over  the  Pacific  seas,  - 

Sounds  of  ignoble  battle,  striking  dumb 

The  season's  half- awakened  ecstasies? 

Must  I  be  humble,  then, 

Now  when  my  heart  hath  need  of  pride? 

Wild  love  falls  on  me  from  these  sculptured  men ; 

By  loving  much  the  land  for  which  they  died 

I  would  be  justified. 

My  spirit  was  away  on  pinions  wide 

To  soothe  in  praise  of  her  its  passionate  mood 

And  ease  it  of  its  ache  of  gratitude. 

Too  sorely  heavy  is  the  debt  they  lay 

On  me  and  the  companions  of  my  day. 

I  would  remember  now 

My  country's  goodliness,  make  sweet  her  name. 

Alas!  what  shade  art  thou 

Of  sorrow  or  of  blame 


AN   ODE   IN  TIME  OF   HESITATION     19 

Liftcst  the  lyric  leafage  from  her  brow, 
And  pointest  a  slow  finger  at  her  shame? 

V 

Lies!  lies!   It  cannot  be!  The  wars  we  wage 
Are  noble,  and  our  battles  still  are  won 
By  justice  for  us,  ere  we  lift  the  gage. 
We  have  not  sold  our  loftiest  heritage. 
The  proud  republic  hath  not  stooped  to  cheat 
And  scramble  in  the  market-place  of  war; 
Her  forehead  weareth  yet  its  solemn  star. 
Here  is  her  witness:  this,  her  perfect  son, 
This  delicate  and  proud  New  England  soul 
Who  leads  despised  men,  with  just-unshackled 

feet, 

Up  the  large  ways  where  death  and  glory  meet, 
To  show  all  peoples  that  our  shame  is  done, 
That  once  more  we  are  clean  and  spirit-whole. 

VI 

Crouched  in  the  sea  fog  on  the  moaning  sand 
All  night  he  lay,  speaking  some  simple  word 
From  hour  to  hour  to  the  slow  minds  that  heard, 
Holding  each  poor  life  gently  in  his  hand 
And  breathing  on  the  base  rejected  clay 
Till  each  dark  face  shone  mystical  and  grand 


20    AN  ODE   IN  TIME  OF  HESITATION 

Against  the  breaking  day; 

And  lo,  the  shard  the  potter  cast  away 

Was  grown  a  fiery  chalice  crystal-fine 

Fulfilled  of  the  divine 

Great  wine  of  battle  wrath  by  God's  ring-finger 

stirred. 

Then  upward,  where  the  shadowy  bastion  loomed 
Huge  on  the  mountain  in  the  wet  sea  light, 
Whence  now,  and  now,  infernal  flowerage  bloomed, 
Bloomed,  burst,  and  scattered  down  its  deadly 

seed,  — 

They  swept,  and  died  like  freemen  on  the  height, 
Like  freemen,  and  like  men  of  noble  breed; 
And  when  the  battle  fell  away  at  night 
By  hasty  and  contemptuous  hands  were  thrust 
Obscurely  in  a  common  grave  with  him 
The  fair-haired  keeper  of  their  love  and  trust. 
Now  limb  doth  mingle  with  dissolved  limb 
In  nature's  busy  old  democracy 
To  flush  the  mountain  laurel  when  she  blows 
Sweet  by  the  southern  sea, 
And  heart  with  crumbled  heart  climbs  in  the 

rose :  - 
The  untaught  hearts  with  the  high  heart  that 

knew 


AN  ODE   IN  TIME  OF  HESITATION    21 

This  mountain  fortress  for  no  earthly  hold 

Of  temporal  quarrel,  but  the  bastion  old 

Of  spiritual  wrong, 

Built  by  an  unjust  nation  sheer  and  strong, 

Expugnable  but  by  a  nation's  rue 

And  bowing  down  before  that  equal  shrine 

By  all  men  held  divine, 

Whereof  his  band  and  he  were  the  most  holy  sign. 

VII 

O  bitter,  bitter  shade! 
Wilt  thou  not  put  the  scorn 
And  instant  tragic  question  from  thine  eye? 
Do  thy  dark  brows  yet  crave 
That  swift  and  angry  stave  - 
Unmeet  for  this  desirous  morn  — 
That  I  have  striven,  striven  to  evade? 
Gazing  on  him,  must  I  not  deem  they  err 
Whose  careless  lips  in  street  and  shop  aver 
As  common  tidings,  deeds  to  make  his  cheek 
Flush  from  the  bronze,  and  his  dead  throat  to 

speak? 

Surely  some  elder  singer  would  arise, 
Whose  harp  hath  leave  to  threaten  and  to  mourn 
Above  this  people  when  they  go  astray. 


22    AN  ODE   IN  TIME  OF  HESITATION 

Is  Whitman,  the  strong  spirit,  overworn? 
Has  Whittier  put  his  yearning  wrath  away? 
I  will  not  and  I  dare  not  yet  believe! 
Though  furtively  the  sunlight  seems  to  grieve, 
And  the  spring-laden  breeze 
Out  of  the  gladdening  west  is  sinister 
With  sounds  of  nameless  battle  overseas; 
Though  when  we  turn  and  question  in  suspense 
If  these  things  be  indeed  after  these  ways, 
And  what  things  are  to  follow  after  these, 
Our  fluent  men  of  place  and  consequence 
Fumble  and  fill  their  mouths  with  hollow  phrase, 
Or  for  the  end-all  of  deep  arguments 
Intone  their  dull  commercial  liturgies  - 
I  dare  not  yet  believe!   My  ears  are  shut! 
I  will  not  hear  the  thin  satiric  praise 
And  muffled  laughter  of  our  enemies, 
Bidding  us  never  sheathe  our  valiant  sword 
Till  we  have  changed  our  birthright  for  a  gourd 
Of  wild  pulse  stolen  from  a  barbarian's  hut; 
Showing  how  wise  it  is  to  cast  away 
The  symbols  of  our  spiritual  sway, 
That  so  our  hands  with  better  ease 
May  wield  the  driver's  whip  and  grasp  the  jailer's 
keys. 


AN  ODE   IN  TIME  OF  HESITATION    23 

VIII 

Was  it  for  this  our  fathers  kept  the  law? 

This  crown  shall  crown  their  struggle  and  their 

ruth? 

Are  we  the  eagle  nation  Milton  saw 
Mewing  its  mighty  youth, 
Soon  to  possess  the  mountain  winds  of  truth, 
And  be  a  swift  familiar  of  the  sun 
Where  aye  before  God's  face  his  trumpets  run? 
Or  have  we  but  the  talons  and  the  maw, 
And  for  the  abject  likeness  of  our  heart 
Shall  some  less  lordly  bird  be  set  apart?  - 
Some  gross-billed  wader  where  the  swamps  are 

fat? 
Some  gorger  in  the  sun?  Some  prowler  with  the 

bat? 

IX 
Ah  no! 

We  have  not  fallen  so. 

We  are  our  fathers'  sons:  let  those  who  lead  us 

know ! 

'T  was  only  yesterday  sick  Cuba's  cry 
Came  up  the  tropic  wind,  "Now  help  us,  for  we 

die!" 


24    AN   ODE   IN  TIME  OF  HESITATION 

Then  Alabama  heard, 

And  rising,  pale,  to  Maine  and  Idaho 

Shouted  a  burning  word. 

Proud  state  with  proud  impassioned  state  con 
ferred, 

And  at  the  liftitig  of  a  hand  sprang  forth, 

East,  west,  and  south,  and  north, 

Beautiful  armies.  Oh,  by  the  sweet  blood  and 
young 

Shed  on  the  awful  hill  slope  at  San  Juan, 

By  the  unforgotten  names  of  eager  boys 

Who  might  have  tasted  girls'  love  and  been  stung 

With  the  old  mystic  joys 

And  starry  griefs,  now  the  spring  nights  come  on, 

But  that  the  heart  of  youth  is  generous,  - 

We  charge  you,  ye  who  lead  us, 

Breathe  on  their  chivalry  no  hint  of  stain ! 

Turn  not  their  new- world  victories  to  gain ! 

One  least  leaf  plucked  for  chaffer  from  the  bays 

Of  their  dear  praise, 

One  jot  of  their  pure  conquest  put  to  hire, 

The  implacable  republic  will  require; 

With  clamor,  in  the  glare  and  gaze  of  noon, 

Or  subtly,  coming  as  a  thief  at  night, 

But  surely,  very  surely,  slow  or  soon 


AN   ODE   IN   TIME  OF  HESITATION    25 

That  insult  deep  we  deeply  will  requite. 
Tempt  not  our  weakness,  our  cupidity ! 
For  save  we  let  the  island  men  go  free, 
Those  baffled  and  dislaureled  ghosts 
Will  curse  us  from  the  lamentable  coasts 
Where  walk  the  frustrate  dead. 
The  cup  of  trembling  shall  be  drained  quite, 
Eaten  the  sour  bread  of  astonishment, 
With  ashes  of  the  hearth  shall  be  made  white 
Our  hair,  and  wailing  shall  be  in  the  tent; 
Then  on  your  guiltier  hea4 
Shall  our  intolerable  self-disdain 
Wreak  suddenly  its  anger  and  its  pain; 
For  manifest  in  that  disastrous  light 
We  shall  discern  the  right 
And  .do  it,  tardily.  —  O  ye  who  lead, 
Take  heed ! 

Blindness  we  may  forgive,  but  baseness  we  will 
smite. 


1900. 


THE  QUARRY 

BETWEEN  the  rice  swamps  and  the  fields  of  tea 
I  met  a  sacred  elephant,  snow-white. 
Upon  his  back  a  huge  pagoda  towered 
Full  of  brass  gods  and  food  of  sacrifice. 
Upon  his  forehead  sat  a  golden  throne, 
The  massy  metal  twisted  into  shapes 
Grotesque,  antediluvian,  such  as  move 
In  myth  or  have  their  broken  images 
Sealed  in  the  stony  middle  of  the  hills. 
A  peacock  spread  his  thousand  dyes  to  screen 
The  yellow  sunlight  from  the  head  of  one 
Who  sat  upon  the  throne,  clad  stiff  with  gems, 
Heirlooms  of  dynasties  of  buried  kings,  - 
Himself  the  likeness  of  a  buried  king, 
With  frozen  gesture  and  unfocused  eyes. 
The  trappings  of  the  beast  were  over-scrawled 
With  broideries  —  sea-shapes  and  flying  things, 
Fan-trees  and  dwarfed  nodosities  of  pine, 
Mixed  with  old  alphabets,  and  faded  lore 
Fallen  from  ecstatic  mouths  before  the  Flood, 


THE  QUARRY  27 

Or  gathered  by  the  daughters  when  they  walked 

Eastward  in  Eden  with  the  Sons  of  God 

* 

Whom  love  and  the  deep  moon  made  garrulous. 
Between  the  carven  tusks  his  trunk  hung  dead ; 
Blind  as  the  eyes  of  pearl  in  Buddha's  brow 
His  beaded  eyes  stared  thwart  upon  the  road ; 
And  feebler  than  the  doting  knees  of  eld, 
His  joints,  of  size  to  swing  the  builder's  crane 
Across  the  war- walls  of  the  Anakim, 
Made  vain  and  shaken  haste.  Good  need  was  his 
To  hasten:  panting,  foaming,  on  the  slot 
Came  many  brutes  of  prey,  their  several  hates 
Laid  by  until  the  sharing  of  the  spoil. 
Just  as  they  gathered  stomach  for  the  leap, 
The  sun  was  darkened,  and  wide-balanced  wings 
Beat  downward  on  the  trade- wind  from  the  sea. 
A  wheel  of  shadow  sped  along  the  fields 
And  o'er  the  dreaming  cities.   Suddenly 
My  heart  misgave  me,  and  I  cried  aloud, 
"Alas!   What  dost  thou  here?   What  dost  thou 

here?" 

The  great  beasts  and  the  little  halted  sharp, 
Eyed  the  grand  circler,  doubting  his  intent. 
Straightway  the  wind  flawed  and  he  came  about, 
Stooping  to  take  the  vanward  of  the  pack; 


28  THE  QUARRY 

Then  turned,  between  the  chasers  and  the  chased, 
Crying  a  word  I  could  not  understand,  - 
But  stiller- tongued,  with  eyes  somewhat  askance, 
They  settled  to  the  slot  and  disappeared. 


1900. 


ON  A  SOLDIER  FALLEN   IN  THE 
PHILIPPINES 

STREETS  of  the  roaring  town, 

Hush  for  him,  hush,  be  still! 

He  comes,  who  was  stricken  down 

Doing  the  word  of  our  will. 

Hush!  Let  him  have  his  state, 

Give  him  his  soldier's  crown. 

The  grists  of  trade  can  wait 

Their  grinding  at  the  mill, 
But  he  cannot  wait  for  his  honor,  now  the  trumpet 

has  been  blown ; 

Wreathe  pride  now  for  his  granite  brow,  lay  love 
on  his  breast  of  stone. 

Toll!  Let  the  great  bells  toll 
Till  the  clashing  air  is  dim. 
Did  we  wrong  this  parted  soul? 
We  will  make  up  it  to  him. 
Toll !  Let  him  never  guess 
What  work  we  set  him  to. 
Laurel,  laurel,  yes; 
He  did  what  we  bade  him  do. 


30    A  SOLDIER   IN   THE   PHILIPPINES 

Praise,  and  never  a  whispered  hint  but  the  fight 

he  fought  was  good ; 
Never  a  word  that  the  blood  on  his  sword  was 

his  country's  own  heart's-blood. 

A  flag  for  the  soldier's  bier 
Who  dies  that  his  land  may  live; 
O,  banners,  banners  here, 
That  he  doubt  not  nor  misgive! 
That  he  heed  not  from  the  tomb 
The  evil  days  draw  near 
When  the  nation,  robed  in  gloom, 
With  its  faithless  past  shall  strive. 

Let  him  never  dream  that  his  bullet's  scream 
went  wide  of  its  island  mark, 

Home  to  the  heart  of  his  darling  land  where  she 
stumbled  and  sinned  in  the  dark. 


UNTIL  THE  TROUBLING  OF  THE 
WATERS 

Two  hours,  two  hours:  God  give  me  strength 

for  it! 

He  who  has  given  so  much  strength  to  me 
And  nothing  to  my  child,  must  give  to-day 
What  more  I  need  to  try  and  save  my  child 
And  get  for  him  the  life  I  owe  to  him. 
To  think  that  I  may  get  it  for  him  now, 
Before  he  knows  how  much  he  might  have  missed 
That  other  boys  have  got !  The  bitterest  thought 
Of  all  that  plagued  me  when  he  came  was  this, 
How  some  day  he  would  see  the  difference, 
And  drag  himself  to  me  with  puzzled  eyes 
To  ask  me  why  it  was.   He  would  have  been 
Cruel  enough  to  do  it,  knowing  not 
That  was  the  question  my  rebellious  heart 
Cried  over  and  over  one  whole  year  to  God, 
And  got  no  answer  and  no  help  at  all. 
If  he  had  asked  me,  what  could  I  have  said? 
What  single  word  could  I  have  found  to  say 
To  hide  me  from  his  searching,  puzzled  gaze? 


32      TROUBLING   OF  THE  WATERS 

Some  coward  thing  at  best,  never  the  truth ; 
The  truth  I  never  could  have  told  him.   No, 
I  never  could  have  said,  "God  gave  you  me 
To  fashion  you  a  body,  right  and  strong, 
With  sturdy  little  limbs  and  chest  and  neck 
For  fun  and  fighting  with  your  little  mates, 
Great  feats  and  voyages  in  the  breathless  world 
Of  out-of-doors,  —  He  gave  you  me  for  this, 
And  I  was  such  a  bungler,  that  is  all!" 
O,  the  old  lie  —  that  thought  was  not  the  worst. 
I  never  have  been  truthful  with  myself. 
For  by  the  door  where  lurked  one  ghostly  thought 
I  stood  with  crazy  hands  to  thrust  it  back 
If  it  should  dare  to  peep  and  whisper  out 
Unbearable  things  about  me,  hearing  which 
The  women  passing  in  the  streets  would  turn 
To  pity  me  and  scold  me  with  their  eyes, 
Who  was  so  bad  a  mother  and  so  slow 
To  learn  to  help  God  do  his  wonder  in  her 
That  she  —  O  my  sweet  baby!   It  was  not 
The  fear  that  you  would  see  the  difference 
Between  you  and  the  other  boys  and  girls; 
No,  no,  it  was  the  dimmer,  wilder  fear, 
That  you  might  never  see  it,  never  look 
Out  of  your  tiny  baby-house  of  mind, 


TROUBLING   OF  THE  WATERS      33 

But  sit  your  life  through,  quiet  in  the  dark, 

Smiling  and  nodding  at  what  was  not  there! 

A  foolish  fear:  God  could  not  punish  so. 

Yet  until  yesterday  I  thought  He  would. 

My  soul  was  always  cowering  at  the  blow 

I  saw  suspended,  ready  to  be  dealt 

The  moment  that  I  showed  my  fear  too  much. 

Therefore  I  hid  it  from  Him  all  I  could, 

And  only  stole  a  shaking  glance  at  it 

Sometimes  in  the  dead  minutes  before  dawn 

When  He  forgets  to  watch.   Till  yesterday. 

For  yesterday  was  wonderful  and  strange 

From  the  beginning.   When  I  wakened  first 

And  looked  out  at  the  window,  the  last  snow 

Was  gone  from  earth;  about  the  apple-trees 

Hung  a  faint  mist  of  bloom;  small  sudden  green 

Had  run  and  spread  and  rippled  everywhere 

Over  the  fields;  and  in  the  level  sun 

Walked  something  like  a  presence  and  a  power, 

Uttering  hopes  and  loving-kindnesses 

To  all  the  world,  but  chiefly  unto  me. 

It  walked  before  me  when  I  went  to  work, 

And  all  day  long  the  noises  of  the  mill 

Were  spun  upon  a  core  of  golden  sound, 

Half-spoken  words  and  interrupted  songs 


34      TROUBLING  OF  THE  WATERS 

Of  blessed  promise,  meant  for  all  the  world, 

But  most  for  me,  because  I  suffered  most. 

The    shooting    spindles,    the    smooth-humming 

wheels, 

The  rocking  webs,  seemed  toiling  to  some  end 
Beneficent  and  human  known  to  them, 
And  duly  brought  to  pass  in  power  and  love. 
The  faces  of  the  girls  and  men  at  work 
Met  mine  with  intense  greeting,  veiled  at  once 
As  if  they  knew  a  secret  they  must  keep 
For  fear  the  joy  would  harm  me  if  they  told 
Before  some  inkling  filtered  to  my  mind 
In  roundabout  ways.   When  the  day's  work  was 

done 

There  lay  a  special  silence  on  the  fields; 
And,  as  I  passed,  the  bushes  and  the  trees, 
The  very  ruts  and  puddles  of  the  road 
Spoke  to  each  other,  saying  it  was  she, 
The  happy  woman,  the  elected  one, 
The  vessel  of  strange  mercy  and  the  sign 
Of  many  loving  wonders  done  in  Heaven 
To  help  the  piteous  earth. 

At  last  I  stopped 
And  looked  about  me  in  sheer  wonderment. 


TROUBLING  OF  THE  WATERS      35 

What  did  it  mean?  What  did  they  want  with  me? 

What  was  the  matter  with  the  evening  now 

That  it  was  just  as  bound  to  make  me  glad 

As  morning  and  the  live-long  day  had  been? 

Me,  who  had  quite  forgot  what  gladness  was, 

Who  had  no  right  to  anything  but  toil, 

And  food  and  sleep  for  strength  to  toil  again, 

And  that  fierce  frightened  anguish  of  my  love 

For  the  poor  little  spirit  I  had  wronged 

With  life  that  was  no  life.   WThat  had  befallen 

Since  yesterday?   No  need  to  stop  and  ask! 

Back  there  in  the  dark  places  of  my  mind 

Where  I  had  thrust  it,  fearing  to  believe 

An  unbelievable  mercy,  shone  the  news 

Told  by  the  village  neighbors  coming  home 

Last  night  from  the  great  city,  of  a  man 

Arisen,  like  the  first  evangelists, 

With  power  to  heal  the  bodies  of  the  sick, 

In  testimony  of  his  master  Christ, 

Who  heals  the  soul  when  it  is  sick  with  sin. 

Could  such  a  thing  be  true  in  these  hard  days? 

Was  help  still  sent  in  such  a  way  as  that? 

No,  no!   I  did  not  dare  to  think  of  it, 

Feeling  what  weakness  and  despair  would  come 

After  the  crazy  hope  broke  under  me. 


36      TROUBLING   OF  THE  WATERS 

I  turned  and  started  homeward,  faster  now, 
But  never  fast  enough  to  leave  behind 
The  voices  and  the  troubled  happiness 
That  still  kept  mounting,  mounting  like  a  sea, 
And  singing  far-off  like  a  rush  of  wings. 
Far  down  the  road  a  yellow  spot  of  light 
Shone  from  my  cottage  window,  rayless  yet, 
Where  the  last  sunset  crimson  caught  the  panes. 
Alice  had  lit  the  lamp  before  she  went; 
Her  day  of  pity  and  unmirthful  play 
Was  over,  and  her  young  heart  free  to  live 
Until  to-morrow  brought  her  nursing-task 
Again,  and  made  her  feel  how  dark  and  still 
That  life  could  be  to  others  which  to  her 
Was  full  of  dreams  that  beckoned,  reaching  hands, 
And  thrilling  invitations  young  girls  hear. 
My  boy  was  sleeping,  little  mind  and  frame 
More  tired  just  lying  there  awake  two  hours 
Than  with  a  whole  day's  romp  he  should  have 

been. 

He  would  not  know  his  mother  had  come  home; 
But  after  supper  I  would  sit  awhile 
Beside  his  bed,  and  let  my  heart  have  time 
For  that  worst  love  that  stabs  and  breaks  and 

kills. 


.TROUBLING  OF  THE  WATERS      37 

This  I  thought  over  to  myself  by  rote 
And  habit,  but  I  could  not  feel  my  thoughts; 
For  still  that  dim  unmeaning  happiness 
Kept  mounting,  mounting  round  me  like  a  sea, 
And  singing  inward  like  a  wind  of  \vings. 

Before  I  lifted  up  the  latch,  I  knew. 

I  felt  no  fear;  the  One  who  waited  there 

In  the  low  lamplight  by  the  bed,  had  come 

Because  I  was  his  sister  and  in  need. 

My  word  had  got  to  Him  somehow  -at  last, 

And  He  had  come  to  help  me  or  to  tell 

Where  help  was  to  be  found.   It  was  not  strange. 

Strange  only  He  had  stayed  away  so  long; 

But  that  should  be  forgotten  —  He  was  here. 

I  pushed  the  door  wide  open  and  looked  in. 

He  had  been  kneeling  by  the  bed,  and  now, 

Half-risen,  kissed  my  boy  upon  the  lips, 

Then  turned  and  smiled  and  pointed  with  his 

hand. 

I  must  have  fallen  on  the  threshold  stone, 
For  I  remember  that  I  felt,  not  saw, 
The  resurrection  glory  and  the  peace 
Shed  from  his  face  and  raiment  as  He  went 
Out  by  the  door  into  the  evening  street. 


38      TROUBLING  OF  THE  WATERS 

But  when  I  looked,  the  place  about  the  bed 
Was  yet  all  bathed  in  light,  and  in  the  midst 
My  boy  lay  changed,  —  no  longer  clothed  upon 
With  scraps  and  shreds  of  life,  but  like  the  child 
Of  some  most  fortunate  mother.   In  a  breath 
The  image  faded.   There  he  lay  again 
The  same  as  always ;  and  the  light  was  gone. 
I  sank  with  moans  and  cries  beside  the  bed. 
The  cruelty,  O  Christ,  the  cruelty! 
To  come  at  last  arid  then  to  go  like  that, 
Leaving  the'darkness  deeper  than  before! 
Then,  though  I  heard  no  sound,  I  grew  aware 
Of  some  one  standing  by  the  open  door 
Among  the  dry  vines  rustling  in  the  porch. 
My  heart  laughed  suddenly.   He  had  come  back ! 
He  had  come  back  to  make  the  vision  true. 
He  had  not  meant  to  mock  me:  God  was  God, 
And  Christ  was  Christ;  there  was  no  falsehood 

there. 

I  heard  a  quiet  footstep  cross  the  room 
And  felt  a  hand  laid  gently  on  my  hair,  — 
A  human  hand,  worn  hard  by  daily  toil, 
Heavy  with  life-long  struggle  after  bread. 
Alice's  father.   The  kind  homely  voice 
Had  in  it  such  strange  music  that  I  dreamed 


TROUBLING  OF  THE  WATERS      39 

Perhaps  it  was  the  Other  speaking  in  him, 
Because  his  own  bright  form  had  made  me  swoon 
With  its  too  much  of  glory.  What  he  brought 
Was  news  as  good  as  ever  heavenly  lips 
Had  the  dear  right  to  utter.   He  had  been 
All  day  among  the  crowds  of  curious  folk 
From  the  great  city  and  the  country-side 
Gathered  to  watch  the  Healer  do  his  work 
Of  mercy  on  the  sick  and  halt  and  blind, 
And  with  his  very  eyes  had  seen  such  things 
As  awestruck  men  had  witnessed  long  ago 
In  Galilee,  and  writ  of  in  the  Book. 
To-morrow  morning  he  would  take  me  there 
If  I  had  strength  and  courage  to  believe. 
It  might  be  there  was  hope;  he  could  not  say, 
But  knew  what  he  had  seen.  When  he  was  gone 
I  lay  for  hours,  letting  the  solemn  waves 
Thundering  joy  go  over  and  over  me. 

Just  before  midnight  baby  fretted,  woke; 
He  never  yet  has  slept  a  whole  night  through 
Without  his  food  and  petting.  As  I  sat 
Feeding  and  petting  him  and  singing  soft, 
I  felt  a  jealousy  begin  to  ache 
And  worry  at  my  heartstrings,  hushing  down 


40      TROUBLING   OF  THE  WATERS 

The  gladness.   Jealousy  of  what  or  whom? 
I  hardly  knew,  or  could  not  put  in  words; 
At  least  it  seemed  too  foolish  and  too  wrong 
When  said,  and  so  I  shut  the  thought  away. 
Only,  next  minute,  it  came  stealing  back. 
After  the  change,  would  my  boy  be  the  same 
As  this  one?  Would  he  be  my  boy  at  all, 
And  not  another's  —  his  who  gave  the  life 
I  could  not  give,  or  did  not  anyhow? 
How  could  I  look  in  his  new  eyes  to  claim 
The  whole  of  him,  the  body  and  the  breath, 
When  some  one  not  his  mother,  a  strange  man, 
Had  clothed  him  in  that  beauty  of  the  flesh  - 
Perhaps  (for  who  could  know?),  perhaps,  by  some 
Hateful  disfiguring  miracle,  had  even 
Transformed  his  spirit  to  a  better  one, 
Better,  but  not  the  same  I  prayed  for  him 
Down    out    of    Heaven    through    the    sleepless 

nights,  - 

The  best  that  God  would  send  to  such  as  me. 
I  tried  to  strangle  back  the  wicked  pain ; 
Fancied  him  changed  and  tried  to  love  him  so. 
No  use;  it  was  another,  not  my  child, 
Not  my  frail,  broken,  priceless  little  one, 
My  cup  of  anguish,  and  my  trembling  star 


TROUBLING  OF  THE  WATERS      41 

Hung  small  and  sad  and  sweet  above  the  earth, 
So  sure  to  fall  but  for  my  cherishing! 

When  he  had  dropped  asleep  again,  I  rose 

And  wrestled  with  the  sinful  selfishness, 

The  dark  injustice,  the  unnatural  pain. 

Fevered  at  last  with  pacing  to  and  fro, 

I  raised  the  bedroom  window  and  leaned  out. 

The  white  moon,  low  behind  the  sycamores, 

Silvered  the  silent  country ;  not  a  voice 

Of  all  the  myriads  summer  moves  to  sing 

Had  yet  awakened ;  in  the  level  moon 

Walked  that  same  presence  I  had  heard  at  dawn 

Uttering  hopes  and  loving-kindnesses, 

But  now,  dispirited  and  reticent, 

It  walked  the  moonlight  like  a  homeless  thing. 

O,  how  to  cleanse  me  of  the  cowardice! 

How  to  be  just!  Was  I  a  mother,  then, 

A  mother,  and  not  love  her  child  as  well 

As  her  own  covetous  and  morbid  love? 

Was  it  for  this  the  Comforter  had  come, 

Smiling  at  me  and  pointing  with  his  hand? 

—  What  had  He  meant  to  have  me  think  or 

do, 
Smiling  and  pointing? 


42      TROUBLING  OF  THE  WATERS 

All  at  once  I  saw 

A  way  to  save  my  darling  from  myself 
And  make  atonement  for  my  grudging  love! 
Under  the  sycamores  and  up  the  hill 
And  down  across  the  river,  the  wet  road 
Went  stretching  cityward,  silvered  in  the  moon. 
I  who  had  shrunk  from  sacrifice,  even  I, 
Who  had  refused  God's  blessing  for  my  boy, 
W7ould  take  him  in  my  arms  and  carry  him 
Up  to  the  altar  of  the  miracle. 
I  would  not  wait  for  daylight,  nor  the  help 
Of  any  human  friendship ;  I  alone, 
Through  the  still  miles  of  country,  I  alone, 
Only  my  arms  to  shield  him  and  my  feet 
To  bear  him :  he  should  have  no  one  to  thank 
But  me  for  that.   I  knew  the  way  was  long, 
But  knew  strength  would  be  given.   So  I  came. 
Soon  the  stars  failed ;  the  late  moon  faded  too : 
I  think  my  heart  had  sucked  their  beams  from 

them 

To  build  more  blue  amid  the  murky  night 
Its  own  miraculous  day.    From  creeks  and  fields 
The  fog  climbed  slowly,  blotted  out  the  road; 
And  hid  the  signposts  telling  of  the  town; 
After  a  while  rain  fell,  with  sleet  and  snow. 


TROUBLING   OF  THE  WATERS      43 

What  did  I  care?   Baby  was  snug  and  dry. 

Some  day,  when  I  was  telling  him  of  this, 

He  would  but  hug  me  closer,  hearing  how 

The  night  conspired  against  us.   Better  hard 

Than  easy,  then :  I  almost  felt  regret 

My  body  was  so  capable  and  strong 

To  do  its  errand.   Honeyed  drop  by  drop, 

The  ghostly  jealousy*,  loosening  at  my  breast, 

Distilled  into  a  dew  of  quiet  tears 

And  fell  with  splash  of  music  in  the  wells 

And  on  the  hidden  rivers  of  my  soul. 

The  hardest  part  was  coming  through  the  town. 
The  country,  even  when  it  hindered  most, 
Seemed  conscious  of  the  thing  I  went  to  find. 
The  rocks  and  bushes  looming  through  the  mist 
Questioned  and  acquiesced  and  understood ; 
The  trees  and  streams  believed;  the  wind  and 

rain, 

Even  they,  for  all  their  temper,  had  some  words 
Of  faith  and  comfort.   But  the  glaring  streets, 
The  dizzy  traffic,  the  piled  merchandise, 
The  giant  buildings  swarming  with  fierce  life  — 
Cared  nothing  for  me.   They  had  never  heard 
Of  me  nor  of  my  business.   When  I  asked 


44      TROUBLING   OF  THE  WATERS 

My  way,  a  shade  of  pity  or  contempt 

Showed  through  men's  kindness  —  for  they  all 

were  kind. 

Daunted  and  chilled  and  very  sick  at  heart, 
I  walked  the  endless  pavements.   But  at  last 
The  streets  grew  quieter;  the  houses  seemed 
As  if  they  might  be  homes  where  people  lived ; 
Then  came  the  factories  and  cottages, 
And  all  was  well  again.   Much  more  than  well, 
For  many  sick  and  broken  went  my  way, 
Alone  or  helped  along  by  loving  hands; 
And  from  a  thousand  eyes  the  famished  hope 
Looked  out  at  mine  —  wild,  patient,  querulous, 
But  always  hope  and  hope,  a  thousand  tongues 
Speaking  one  word  in  many  languages. 

In  two  hours  He  will  come,  they  say,  will  stand 
There  on  the  steps,  above  the  waiting  crowd, 
And  touch  with  healing  hands  whoever  asks 
Believingly,  in  spirit  and  in  truth. 
Can  such  a  mercy  be,  in  these  hard  days? 
Is  help  still  sent  in  such  a  way  as  that? 
Christ,  I  believe;  pity  my  unbelief! 


JETSAM 

I  WONDER  can  this  be  the  world  it  was 

At  sunset?   I  remember  the  sky  fell 

Green  as  pale  meadows,  at  the  long  street-ends, 

But  overhead  the  smoke- wrack  hugged  the  roofs 

As  if  to  shut  the  city  from  God's  eyes 

Till  dawn  should  quench  the  laughter  and  the 

lights. 

Beneath  the  gas  flare  stolid  faces  passed, 
Too  dull  for  sin ;  old  loosened  lips  set  hard 
To  drain  the  stale  lees  from  the  cup  of  sense; 
Or  if  a  young  face  yearned  from  out  the  mist 
Made  by  its  own  bright  hair,  the  eyes  were  wan 
With  desolate  fore-knowledge  of  the  end. 
My  life  lay  waste  about  me:  as  I  walked, 
From  the  gross  dark  of  unfrequented  streets 
The  face  of  my  own  youth  peered  forth  at  me, 
Struck  white  with  pity  at  the  thing  I  was; 
And  globed  in  ghostly  fire,  thrice- virginal, 
With  lifted  face  star-strong,  went  one  who  sang 
Lost  verses  from  my  youth's  gold  canticle. 
Out  of  the  void  dark  came  my  face  and  hers 


46  JETSAM 

One  vivid  moment  —  then  the  street  was  there ; 
Bloat  shapes  and  mean  eyes  blotted  the  sear  dusk; 
And  in  the  curtained  window  of  a  house 
Whence  sin  reeked  on  the  night,  a  shameful  head 
Was  silhouetted  black  as  Satan's  face 
Against  eternal  fires.    I  stumbled  on 
Down  the  dark  slope  that  reaches  riverward, 
Stretching  blind  hands  to  find  the  throat  of  God 
And  crush  Him  in  his  lies.   The  river  lay 
Coiled  in  its  factory  filth  and  few  lean  trees. 
All  was  too  hateful  —  I  could  not  die  there ! 
I  whom  the  Spring  had  strained  unto  her  breast, 
Whose  lips  had  felt  the  wet  vague  lips  of  dawn. 
So  under  the  thin  willows'  leprous  shade 
And  through  the  tangled  ranks  of  riverweed 
I  pushed  —  till  lo,  God  heard  me!   I  came  forth 
Where,  'neath  the  shoreless  hush  of  region  light, 
Through  a  new  world,  undreamed  of,  undesired, 
Beyond  imagining  of  man's  weary  heart, 
Far  to  the  white  marge  of  the  wondering  sea 
This  still  plain  widens,  and  this  moon  rains  down 
Insufferable  ecstasy  of  peace. 

My  heart  is  man's  heart,   strong  to  bear  this 
night's 


JETSAM  47 

Unspeakable  affliction  of  mute  love 

That  crazes  lesser  things.  The  rocks  and  clods 

Dissemble,  feign  a  busy  intercourse; 

The  bushes  deal  in  shadowy  subterfuge, 

Lurk  dull,  dart  spiteful  out,  make  heartless  signs, 

Utter  awestricken  purpose  of  no  sense,  — 

But  I  walk  quiet,  crush  aside  the  hands 

Stretched  furtively  to  drag  me  madmen's  ways. 

I  know  the  thing  they  suffer,  and  the  tricks 

They  must  be  at  to  help  themselves  endure. 

I  would  not  be  too  boastful ;  I  am  weak, 

Too  weak  to  put  aside  the  utter  ache 

Of  this  lone  splendor  long  enough  to  see 

Whether  the  moon  is  still  her  white  strange  self 

Or  something  whiter,  stranger,  even  the  face 

Which  by  the  changed  face  of  my  risen  youth 

Sang,  globed  in  fire,  her  golden  canticle. 

I  dare  not  look  again ;  another  gaze 

Might  drive  me  to  the  wavering  coppice  there, 

Where  bat-winged  madness  brushed  me,  the  wild 

laugh 

Of  naked  nature  crashed  across  my  blood. 
So  rank  it  was  with  earthy  presences, 
Faun-shapes  in  goatish  dance,  young  witches'  eyes 
Slanting  deep  invitation,  whinnying  calls 


48  JETSAM 

Ambiguous,    shocks    and    whirlwinds    of    wild 

mirth,  - 

They  had  undone  me  in  the  darkness  there, 
But  that  within  me,  smiting  through  my  lids 
Lowered  to  shut  in  the  thick  whirl  of  sense. 
The  dumb  light  ached  and  rummaged,  and  with 
out, 

The  soaring  splendor  summoned  me  aloud 
To  leave  the  low  dank  thickets  of  the  flesh 
Where  man  meets  beast  and  makes  his  lair  with 

him, 

For  spirit  reaches  of  the  strenuous  vast, 
Where  stalwart  stars  reap  grain  to  make  the  bread 
God  breaketh  at  his  tables  and  is  glad. 
I  came  out  in  the  moonlight  cleansed  and  strong, 
And  gazed  up  at  the  lyric  face  to  see 
All  sweetness  tasted  of  in  earthen  cups 
Ere  it  be  dashed  and  spilled,  all  radiance  flung 
Beyond  experience,  every  benison  dream, 
Treasured  and  mystically  crescent  there. 

O,  who  will  shield  me  from  her?   Who  will  place 
A  veil  between  me  and  the  fierce  in-throng 
Of  her  inexorable  benedicite? 
See,  I  have  loved  her  well  and  been  with  her! 


,      JETSAM  49 

Through  tragic  twilights  when  the  stricken  sea 
Groveled  with  fear;  or  when  she  made  her  throne 
In  imminent  cities  built  of  gorgeous  winds 
And  paved  with  lightnings ;  or  when  the  sobering 

stars 
Would  lead  her  home  'mid  wealth  of  plundered 

May 

Along  the  violet  slopes  of  evensong. 
Of  all  the  sights  that  starred  the  dreamy  year, 
For  me  one  sight  stood  peerless  and  apart: 
Bright  rivers  tacit;  low  hills  prone  and  dumb; 
Forests  that  hushed  their  tiniest  voice  to  hear; 
Skies  for  the  unutterable  advent  robed 
In  purple  like  the  opening  iris  buds; 
And  by  some  lone  expectant  pool,  one  tree 
Whose  grey  boughs  shivered  with  excess  of  awe, — 
As  with  preluding  gush  of  amber  light, 
And  herald  trumpets  softly  lifted  through, 
Across  the  palpitant  horizon  marge 
Crocus-filleted  came  the  singing  moon. 
Out  of  her  changing  lights  I  wove  my  youth 
A  place  to  dwell  in,  sweet  and  spiritual, 
And  all  the  bitter  years  of  my  exile 
My  heart  has  called  afar  off  unto  her. 
Lo,  after  many  days  love  finds  its  own ! 


50  JETSAM 

The  futile  adorations,  the  waste  tears, 

The  hymns  that  fluttered  low  in  the  false  dawn, 

She  has  uptreasured  as  a  lover's  gifts; 

They  are  the  mystic  garment  that  she  wears 

Against  the  bridal,  and  the  crocus  flowers 

She  twined  her  brow  with  at  the  going  forth ; 

They  are  the  burden  of  the  song  she  made 

In  coming  through  the  quiet  fields  of  space, 

And  breathe  between  her  passion-parted  lips 

Calling  me  out  along  the  flowering  road 

Which  summers  through  the  dimness  of  the  sea. 

Hark,  where  the  deep  feels  round  its  thousand 

shores 

To  find  remembered  respite,  and  far  drawn 
Through  weed-strewn  shelves  and  crannies  of  the 

coast 

The  myriad  silence  yearns  to  myriad  speech. 
O  sea  that  yearns  a  day,  shall  thy  tongues  be 
So  eloquent,  and  heart,  shall  all  thy  tongues 
Be  dumb  to  speak  thy  longing?  Say  I  hold 
Life  as  a  broken  jewel  in  my  hand, 
And  fain  would  buy  a  little  love  with  it 
For  comfort,  say  I  fain  would  make  it  shine 
Once  in  remembering  eyes  ere  it  be  dust,  — 


JETSAM  51 

Were  life  not  worthy  spent?    Then  what  of  this, 

When  all  my  spirit  hungers  to  repay 

The  beauty   that  has   drenched  my   soul  with 

peace? 

Once  at  a  simple  turning  of  the  way 
I  met  God  walking;  and  although  the  dawn 
Was  large  behind  Him,  and  the  morning  stars 
Circled  and  sang  about  his  face  as  birds 
About  the  fieldward  morning  cottager, 
My  coward  heart  said  faintly,  "Let  us  haste! 
Day  grows  and  it  is  far  to  market- town." 
Once  where  I  lay  in  darkness  after  fight, 
Sore  smitten,  thrilled  a  little  thread  of  song 
Searching  and  searching  at  my  muffled  sense 
Until  it  shook  sweet  pangs  through  all  my  blood, 
And  I  beheld  one  globed  in  ghostly  fire 
Singing,  star-strong,  her  golden  canticle ; 
And  her  mouth  sang,  "The  hosts  of  Hate  roll 

past, 

A  dance  of  dust  motes  in  the  sliding  sun; 
Love's  battle  comes  on  the  wide  wings  of  storm, 
From  east  to  west  one  legion!  Wilt  thou  strive?" 
Then,  since  the  splendor  of  her  sword-bright  gaze 
Was  heavy  on  me  with  yearning  and  with  scorn 
My  sick  heart  muttered,  "Yea,  the  little  strife, 


52  JETSAM 

Yet   see,    the   grievous   wounds!    I    fain  would 

sleep." 

O  heart,  shalt  thou  not  once  be  strong  to  go 
Where  all  sweet  throats  are  calling,  once  be  brave 
To  slake  with  deed  thy  dumbness?  Let  us  go 
The  path  her  singing  face  looms  low  to  point, 
Pendulous,  blanched  with  longing,  shedding  flame 
Of  silver  on  the  brown  grope  of  the  flood ; 
For  all  my  spirit's  soilure  is  put  by 
And  all  my  body's  soilure,  lacking  now 
But  the  last  lustral  sacrament  of  death 
To  make  me  clean  for  those  near-searching  eyes 
That  question  yonder  whether  all  be  well, 
And  pause  a  little  ere  they  dare  rejoice. 

Question  and  be  thou  answered,  passionate  face! 
For  I  am  worthy,  worthy  now  at  last 
After  so  long  unworth ;  strong  now  at  last 
To  give  myself  to  beauty  and  be  saved ; 
Now,  being  man,  to  give  myself  to  thee, 
As  once  the  tumult  of  my  boyish  heart 
Companioned    thee   with    rapture    through    the 

world, 

Forth  from  a  land  whereof  no  poet's  lip 
Made  mention  how  the  leas  were  lily-sprent, 


JETSAM  53 

Into  a  land  God's  eyes  had  looked  not  on 
To  love  the  tender  bloom  upon  the  hills. 
To-morrow,  when  the  fishers  come  at  dawn 
Upon  that  shell  of  me  the  sea  has  tossed 
To  land,  as  fit  for  earth  to  use  again, 
Men,  meeting  at  the  shops  and  corner  streets, 
Will  speak  a  word  of  pity,  glossing  o'er 
With  altered  accent,  dubious  sweep  of  hand, 
Their  virile,  just  contempt  for  one  who  failed. 
But  they  can  never  cast  my  earnings  up, 
Who  know  so  well  my  losses.   Even  you 
Who  in  the  mild  light  of  the  spirit  walk 
And  hold  yourselves  acquainted  with  the  truth, 
Be  not  too  swift  to  judge  and  cast  me  out! 
You  shall  find  other,  nobler  ways  than  mine 
To  work  your  soul's  redemption,  —  glorious  noons 
Of  battle  'neath  the  heaven-suspended  sign, 
And  nightly  refuge  'neath  God's  aegis-rim; 
Increase  of  wisdom,  and  acquaintance  held 
With  the  heart's  austerities;  still  governance, 
And  ripening  of  the  blood  in  the  weekday  sun 
To  make  the  full-orbed  consecrated  fruit 
At  life's  end  for  the  Sabbath  supper  meet. 
I  shall  not  sit  beside  you  at  that  feast, 
For  ere  a  seedling  of  my  golden  tree 


54  JETSAM 

Pushed  off  its  petals  to  get  room  to  grow, 

I  stripped  the  boughs  to  make  an  April  gaud 

And  wreathe  a  spendthrift  garland  for  my  hair. 

But  mine  is  not  the  failure  God  deplores; 

For  I  of  old  am  beauty's  votarist, 

Long  recreant,  often  foiled  and  led  astray, 

But  resolute  at  last  to  seek  her  there 

Where  most  she  does  abide,  and  crave  with  tears 

That  she  assoil  me  of  my  blemishment. 

Low  looms  her  singing  face  to  point  the  way, 

Pendulous,  blanched  with  longing,  shedding  flame 

Of  silver  on  the  brown  grope  of  the  flood. 

The  stars  are  for  me;  the  horizon  wakes 

Its  pilgrim  chanting;  and  the  little  sand 

Grows  musical  of  hope  beneath  my  feet. 

The  waves  that  leap  to  meet  my  swimming  breast 

Gossip  sweet  secrets  of  the  light-drenched  way, 

And  when  the  deep  throbs  of  the  rising  surge 

Pulse  upward  with  me,  and  a  rain  of  wings 

Blurs  round  the  moon's  pale  place,  she  stoops  to 

reach 

Still  welcome  of  bright  hands  across  the  wave 
And  sings  low,  low,  globed  all  in  ghostly  fire, 
Lost  verses  from  my  youth's  gold  canticle. 


THE   BRUTE 

THROUGH  his  might  men  work  their  wills. 

They  have  boweled  out  the  hills 

For  food  to  keep  him  toiling  in  the  cages  they  have 
wrought; 

And  they  fling  him,  hour  by  hour, 

Limbs  of  men  to  give  him  power; 

Brains  of  men  to  give  him  cunning;  and  for  dain 
ties  to  devour 

Children's  souls,  the  little  worth;  hearts  of 
women,  cheaply  bought: 

He  takes  them  and  he  breaks  them,  but  he  gives 
them  scanty  thought. 

For  about  the  noisy  land, 

Roaring,  quivering  'neath  his  hand, 

His  thoughts  brood  fierce  and  sullen  or  laugh  in 

lust  of  pride 

O'er  the  stubborn  things  that  he, 
Breaks  to  dust  and  brings  to  be. 
Some  he  mightily  establishes,  some  flings  down 

utterly. 


56  THE   BRUTE 

There  is  thunder  in  his  stride,  nothing  ancient 

can  abide, 
When  he  hales  the  hills  together  and  bridles  up 

the  tide. 

Quietude  and  loveliness, 

Holy  sights  that  heal  and  bless, 

They  are  scattered  and  abolished  where  his  iron 

hoof  is  set; 

When  he  splashes  through  the  brae 
Silver  streams  are  choked  with  clay, 
When  he  snorts  the  bright  cliffs  crumble  and  the 

woods  go  down  like  hay; 
He  lairs  in  pleasant  cities,  and  the  haggard  people 

fret 
Squalid  'mid  their  new-got  riches,  soot-begrimed 

and  desolate. 

They  who  caught  and  bound  him  tight 

Laughed  exultant  at  his  might, 

Saying,  "Now  behold,  the  good  time  comes  for 
the  weariest  and  the  least ! 

We  will  use  this  lusty  knave: 

No  more  need  for  men  to  slave ; 

We  may  rise  and  look  about  us  and  have  know 
ledge  ere  the  grave." 


THE   BRUTE  57 

But  the  Brute  said  in  his  breast,  "Till  the  mills 

I  grind  have  ceased, 
The  riches  shall  be  dust  of  dust,  dry  ashes  be  the 

feast! 

"On  the  strong  and  cunning  few 

Cynic  favors  I  will  strew; 

I  will  stuff  their  maw  with  overplus  until  their 

spirit  dies ; 

From  the  patient  and  the  low 
I  will  take  the  joys  they  know; 
They  shall  hunger  after  vanities  and  still  an-hun- 

gered  go. 
Madness  shall  be  on  the  people,  ghastly  jealousies 

arise ; 
Brother's  blood  shall  cry  on  brother  up  the  dead 

and  empty  skies. 

"  I  will  burn  and  dig  and  hack 

Till  the  heavens  suffer  lack; 

God  shall  feel  a  pleasure  fail  Him,  crying  to  his 

cherubim, 

'Who  hath  flung  yon  mud-ball  there 
Where  my  world  went  green  and  fair?' 
I  shall  laugh  and  hug  me,  hearing  how  his  senti 
nels  declare, 


58  THE   BRUTE 

"T  is  the  Brute  they  chained  to  labor!    He  has 

made  the  bright  earth  dim. 
Store  of  wares  and  pelf  a  plenty,  but  they  got  no 

good  of  him." 

So  he  plotted  in  his  rage: 

So  he  deals  it,  age  by  age. 

But  even  as  he  roared  his  curse  a  still  small  Voice 

befell; 
Lo,  a  still  and  pleasant  voice  bade  them  none  the 

less  rejoice, 
For  the  Brute  must  bring  the  good  time  on;  he 

has  no  other  choice. 
He  may  struggle,  sweat,  and  yell,  but  he  knows 

exceeding  well 
He  must  work  them  out  salvation  ere  they  send 

him  back  to  hell. 

All  the  desert  that  he  made 

He  must  treble  bless  with  shade, 

In  primal  wastes  set  precious  seed  of  rapture  and 

of  pain; 

All  the  strongholds  that  he  built 
For  the  powers  of  greed  and  guilt  - 
He  must  strew  their  bastions  down  the  sea  and 

choke  their  towers  with  silt; 


THE   BRUTE  59 

He  must  make  the  temples  clean  for  the  gods  to 

come  again, 
And  lift  the  lordly  cities  under  skies  without  a 

stain. 

In  a  very  cunning  tether 

He  must  lead  the  tyrant  weather; 

He  must  loose  the  curse  of  Adam  from  the  worn 
neck  of  the  race; 

He  must  cast  out  hate  and  fear, 

Dry  away  each  fruitless  tear, 

And  make  the  fruitful  tears  to  gush  from  the  deep 
heart  and  clear. 

He  must  give  each  man  his  portion,  each  his 
pride  and  worthy  place ; 

He  must  batter  down  the  arrogant  and  lift  the 
weary  face, 

On  each  vile  mouth  set  purity,  on  each  low  fore 
head  grace. 

Then,  perhaps,  at  the  last  day, 

They  will  whistle  him  away, 

Lay  a  hand  upon  his  muzzle  in  the  face  of  God, 

and  say, 
"Honor,  Lord,  the  Thing  we  tamed! 


60  THE   BRUTE 

Let  him  not  be  scourged  or  blamed/ 

Even  through  his  wrath  and  fierceness  was  thy 

fierce  wroth  world  reclaimed! 
Honor  Thou  thy  servants'  servant;  let  thy  justice 

now  be  shown." 
Then  the  Lord  will  heed  their  saying,  and  the 

Brute  come  to  his  own, 
'Twixt  the  Lion  and  the  Eagle,  by  the  armpost 

of  the  Throne. 


THE  MENAGERIE 

THANK  God  my  brain  is  not  inclined  to  cut 
Such  capers  every  day!   I 'm  just  about 
Mellow,   but   then  —  There   goes   the   tent-flap 

shut. 

Rain 's  in  the  wind.   I  thought  so :  every  snout 
Was  twitching  when  the  keeper  turned  me  out. 

That  screaming  parrot  makes  my  blood  run  cold. 

Gabriel's  trump!  the  big  bull  elephant 

Squeals    "Rain!"    to    the   parched    herd.     The 

monkeys  scold, 

And  jabber  that  it's  rain  water  they  want. 
(It  makes  me  sick  to  see  a  monkey  pant.) 

I  '11  foot  it  home,  to  try  and  make  believe 
I  'm  sober.   After  this  I  stick  to  beer, 
And  drop  the  circus  when  the  sane  folks  leave. 
A  man's  a  fool  to  look  at  things  too  near: 
They  look  back,  and  begin  to  cut  up  queer. 

Beasts  do,  at  any  rate;  especially 

Wild  devils  caged.   They  have  the  coolest  way 


62  THE   MENAGERIE 

Of  being  something  else  than  what  you  see : 
You  pass  a  sleek  young  zebra  nosing  hay, 
A  nylghau  looking  bored  and  distingue,  — 

And  think  you've  seen  a  donkey  and  a  bird. 
Not  on  your  life!   Just  glance  back,  if  you  dare. 
The  zebra  chews,  the  nylghau  has  n't  stirred; 
But  something's  happened,  Heaven  knows  what 

or  where 
To  freeze  your  scalp  and  pompadour  your  hair. 

• 

I  'm  not  precisely  an  aeolian  lute 
Hung  in  the  wandering  winds  of  sentiment, 
But  drown  me  if  the  ugliest,  meanest  brute 
Grunting  and  fretting  in  that  sultry  tent 
Did  n't  just  floor  me  with  embarrassment! 

'T  was  like  a  thunder-clap  from  out  the  clear,  - 
One  minute  they  were  circus  beasts,  some  grand, 
Some  ugly,  some  amusing,  and  some  queer: 
Rival  attractions  to  the  hobo  band, 
The  flying  jenny,  and  the  peanut  stand. 

Next  minute  they  were  old  hearth-mates  of  mine ! 
Lost  people,  eyeing  me  with  such  a  stare! 


THE   MENAGERIE  63 

Patient,  satiric,  devilish,  divine; 

A  gaze  of  hopeless  envy,  squalid  care, 

Hatred,  and  thwarted  love,  and  dim  despair. 

Within  my  blood  my  ancient  kindred  spoke,  — 
Grotesque  and  monstrous  voices,  heard  afar 
Down  ocean  caves  when  behemoth  awoke, 
Or  through  fern  forests  roared  the  plesiosaur 
Locked  with  the  giant-bat  in  ghastly  war. 

And  suddenly,  as  in  a  flash  of  light, 

I  saw  great  Nature  working  out  her  plan ; 

Through  all  her  shapes  from  mastodon  to  mite 

Forever  groping,  testing,  passing  on 

To  find  at  last  the  shape  and  soul  of  Man. 

Till  in  the  fullness  of  accomplished  time, 
Comes  brother  Forepaugh,  upon  business  bent, 
Tracks  her  through  frozen  and  through  torrid 

clime, 

And  shows  us,  neatly  labeled  in  a  tent, 
The  stages  of  her  huge  experiment; 

Blabbing  aloud  her  shy  and  reticent  hours; 
Dragging  to  light  her  blinking,  slothful  moods; 


64  THE   MENAGERIE 

Publishing  fretful  seasons  when  her  powers 

Worked  wild  and  sullen  in  her  solitudes, 

,Or  when  her  mordant  laughter  shook  the  woods. 


». 
Here,  round  about  me,  were  her  vagrant  births; 

Sick  dreams  she  had,  fierce  projects  she  essayed; 
Her  qualms,  her  fiery  prides,  her  crazy  mirths; 
The  troublings  of  her  spirit  as  she  strayed, 
Cringed,  gloated,  mocked,  was  lordly,  was  afraid, 

On  that  long  road  she  went  to  seek  mankind; 
Here  were  the  darkling  coverts  that  she  beat 
To  find  the  Hider  she  was  sent  to  find; 
Here  the  distracted  footprints  of  her  feet 
Whereby  her  soul's  Desire  she  came  to  greet. 

But  why  should  they,  her  botch-work,  turn  about 
And  stare  disdain  at  me,  her  finished  job? 
Why  was  the  place  one  vast  suspended  shout 
Of  laughter?  Why  did  all  the  daylight  throb 
With  soundless  guffaw  and  dumb-stricken  sob? 

Helpless  I  stood  among  those  awful  cages; 

The  beasts  were  walking  loose,  and  I  was  bagged  ! 

I,  I,  last  product  of  the  toiling  ages, 


THE   MENAGERIE  65 

Goal  of  heroic  feet  that  never  lagged,  — 
A  little  man  in  trousers,  slightly  jagged. 

Deliver  me  from  such  another  jury! 
The  Judgment-day  will  be  a  picnic  to  't. 
Their  satire  was  more  dreadful  than  their  fury, 
And  worst  of  all  was  just  a  kind  of  brute 
Disgust,  and  giving  up,  and  sinking  mute. 

Survival  of  the  fittest,  adaptation, 
And  all  their  other  evolution  terms, 
Seem  to  omit  one  small  consideration, 
To  wit,  that  tumblebugs  and  angleworms 
Have    souls:    there's    soul    in    everything    that 
squirms. 

And  souls  are  restless,  plagued,  impatient  things, 
All  dream  and  unaccountable  desire ; 
Crawling,  but  pestered  with  the  thought  of  wings; 
Spreading  through  every  inch  of  earth's  old  mire 
Mystical  hanker  after  something  higher. 

Wishes  are  horses,  as  I  understand. 

I  guess  a  wistful  polyp  that  has  strokes 

Of  feeling  faint  to  gallivant  on  land 


66  THE   MENAGERIE 

Will  come  to  be  a  scandal  to  his  folks; 

Legs  he  will  sprout,  in  spite  of  threats  and  jokes. 

And  at  the  core  of  every  life  that  crawls 
Or  runs  or  flies  or  swims  or  vegetates  - 
Churning  the  mammoth's  heart-blood,  in  the  galls 
Of  shark  and  tiger  planting  gorgeous  hates, 
Lighting  the  love  of  eagles  for  their  mates; 

Yes,  in  the  dim  brain  of  the  jellied  fish 

That  is  and  is  not  living  —  moved  and  stirred 

From  the  beginning  a  mysterious  wish, 

A  vision,  a  command,  a  fatal  Word: 

The  name  of  Man  was  uttered,  and  they  heard. 

Upward  along  the  aeons  of  old  war 

They  sought  him:  wing  and  shank-bone,  claw  and 

bill 

Were  fashioned  and  rejected ;  wide  and  far 
They  roamed  the  twilight  jungles  of  their  will; 
But  still  they  sought  him,  and  desired  him  still. 

Man  they  desired,  but  mind  you,  Perfect  Man, 
The  radiant  and  the  loving,  yet  to  be! 
I  hardly  wonder,  when  they  came  to  scan 


THE  MENAGERIE  67 

The  upshot  of  their  strenuosity, 

They  gazed  with  mixed  emotions  upon  me. 

Well,  my  advice  to  you  is,  Face  the  creatures, 
Or  spot  them  sideways  with  your  weather  eye, 
Just  to  keep  tab  on  their  expansive  features; 
It  is  n't  pleasant  when  you're  stepping  high 
To  catch  a  giraffe  smiling  on  the  sly. 

If  nature  made  you  graceful,  don't  get  gay 
Back- to  before  the  hippopotamus; 
If  meek  and  godly,  find  some  place  to  play 
Besides  right  where  three  mad  hyenas  fuss: 
You  may  hear  language  that  we  won't  discuss. 

If  you  're  a  sweet  thing  in  a  flower-bed  hat, 
Or  her  best  fellow  with  your  tie  tucked  in, 
Don't  squander  love's  bright  springtime 'girding  at 
An  old  chimpanzee  with  an  Irish  chin : 
There  may  be  hidden  meaning  in  his  grin. 


THE  GOLDEN  JOURNEY 

ALL  day  he  drowses  by  the  sail 

With  dreams  of  her,  and  all  night  long 

The  broken  waters  are  at  song 

Of  how  she  lingers,  wild  and  pale, 

When  all  the  temple  lights  are  dumb, 

And  weaves  her  spells  to  make  him  come. 

The  wide  sea  traversed,  he  will  stand 
With  straining  eyes,  until  the  shoal 
Green  water  from  the  prow  shall  roll 
Upon  the  yellow  strip  of  sand  - 
Searching  some  fern-hid  tangled  way 
Into  the  forest  old  and  grey. 

Then  he  will  leap  upon  the  shore, 
And  cast  one  look  up  at  the  sun, 
Over  his  loosened  locks  will  run 
The  dawn  breeze,  and  a  bird  will  pour 
Its  rapture  out  to  make  life  seem 
Too  sweet  to  leave  for  such  a  dream. 


THE  GOLDEN  JOURNEY  69 

But  all  the  swifter  will  he  go 
Through  the  pale,  scattered  asphodels, 
Down  mote-hung  dusk  of  olive  dells, 
To  where  the  ancient  basins  throw 
Fleet  threads  of  blue  and  trembling  zones 
Of  gold  upon  the  temple  stones. 

There  noon  keeps  just  a  twilight  trace; 
Twixt  love  and  hate,  and  death  and  birth, 
No  man  may  choose;  nor  sobs  nor  mirth 
May  enter  in  that  haunted  place. 
All  day  the  fountain  sphynx  lets  drip 
Slow  drops  of  silence  from  her  lip. 

To  hold  the  porch-roof  slender  girls 
Of  milk-white  marble  stand  arow; 
Doubt  never  blurs  a  single  brow, 
And  never  the  noon's  faintness  curls 
From  their  expectant  hush  of  pride 
The  lips  the  god  has  glorified. 

But  these  things  he  will  barely  view, 
Or  if  he  stay  to  heed  them,  still 
But  as  the  lark  the  lights  that  spill 
From  out  the  sun  it  soars  unto, 


70  THE  GOLDEN  JOURNEY 

Where,  past  the  splendors  and  the  heats, 
The  sun's  heart's  self  forever  beats. 

For  wide  the  brazen  doors  will  swing 
Soon  as  his  sandals  touch  the  pave; 
The  anxious  light  inside  will  wave 
And  tremble  to  a  lunar  ring 
About  the  form  that  lieth  prone 
Before  the  dreadful  altar-stone. 

She  will  not  look  or  speak  or  stir, 

But  with  drowned  lips  and  cheeks  death- white 

Will  lie  amid  the  pool  of  light, 

Until,  grown  faint  with  thirst  of  her, 

He  shall  bow  down  his  face  and  sink 

Breathless  beneath  the  eddying  brink. 

Then  a  swift  music  will  begin, 
And  as  the  brazen  doors  shut  slow, 
There  will  be  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
And  lights  and  calls  and  silver  din, 
While  through  the  star-freaked  swirl  of  air 
The  god's  sweet  cruel  eyes  will  stare. 


HEART'S  WILD-FLOWER 

TO-NIGHT  her  lids  shall  lift  again,  slow,  soft,  with 

vague  desire, 
And  lay  about  my  breast  and  brain  their  hush  of 

spirit  fire, 
And  I  shall  take  the  sweet  of  pain  as  the  laborer 

his  hire. 

And  though  no  word  shall  e'er  be  said  to  ease  the 

ghostly  sting, 
And  though  our  hearts,  unhoused,  unfed,  must 

still  go  wandering, 
My  sign  is  set  upon  her  head  while  stars  do  meet 

and  sing. 

Not  such  a  sign  as  women  wear  who  make  their 
'foreheads  tame 

With  fife's  long  tolerance,  and  bear  love's  sweet 
est,  humblest  name, 

Nor  such  as  passion  eateth  bare  with  its  crown  of 
tears  and  flame. 


72  HEART'S  WILD-FLOWER 

Nor  such  a  sign  as  happy  friend  sets  on  his  friend's 

dear  brow 
When  meadow-pipings  break  and  blend  to  a  key 

of  autumn  woe, 
And  the  woodland  says  playtime's  at  end,  best 

unclasp  hands  and  go. 

But  where  she  strays,  through  blight  or  blooth, 

one  fadeless  flower  she  wears, 
A  little  gift  God  gave  my  youth,  —  whose  petals 

dim  were  fears, 
Awes,  adorations,  songs  of  ruth,  hesitancies,  and 

tears. 

O  heart  of  mine,  with  all  thy  powers  of  white 

beatitude, 
What  are   the  dearest  of  God's  dowers  to  the 

children  of  his  blood? 
How  blow  the  shy,  shy  wilding  flowers  in  the 

hollows  of  his  wood ! 


HARMONICS 

THIS  string  upon  my  harp  was  best  beloved : 
I  thought  I  knew  its  secrets  through  and  through ; 
Till  an  old  man,  whose  young  eyes  lightened  blue 
'Neath  his  white  hair,  bent  over  me  and  moved 
His  fingers  up  and  down,  and  broke  the  wire 
To  such  a  laddered  music,  rung  on  rung, 
As  from  the  patriarch's  pillow  skyward  sprung 
Crowded  with  wide-flung  wings  and  feet  of  fire. 

O  vibrant  heart!  so  metely  tuned  and  strung 
That  any  untaught  hand  can  draw  from  thee 
One  clear  gold  note  that  makes  the  tired  years 

young  — 

What  of  the  time  when  Love  had  whispered  me 
Where  slept  thy  nodes,  and  my  hand  pausefully 
Gave  to  the  dim  harmonics  voice  and  tongue? 


ON  THE  RIVER 

THE  faint  stars  wake  and  wonder, 
Fade  and  find  heart  anew ; 
Above  us  and  far  under 
Sphereth  the  watchful  blue. 

Silent  she  sits,  outbending, 
A  wild  pathetic  grace, 
A  beauty  strange,  heart-rending, 
Upon  her  hair  and  face. 

O  spirit  cries  that  sever 
The  cricket's  level  drone! 
O  to  give  o'er  endeavor 
And  let  love  have  its  own! 

Within  the  mirrored  bushes 
There  wakes  a  little  stir; 
The  white-throat  moves,  and  hushes 
Her  nestlings  under  her. 

Beneath,  the  lustrous  river, 
The  watchful  sky  o'erhead. 
God,  God,  that  Thou  should'st  ever 
Poison  thy  children's  bread! 


THE  BRACELET  OF  GRASS 

THE  opal  heart  of  afternoon 

Was  clouding  on  to  throbs  of  storm, 

Ashen  within  the  ardent  west 

The  lips  of  thunder  muttered  harm, 

And  as  a  bubble  like  to  break 

Hung  heaven's  trembling  amethyst, 

When  with  the  sedge-grass  by  the  lake 

I  braceleted  her  wrist. 

And  when  the  ribbon  grass  was  tied, 
Sad  with  the  happiness  we  planned, 
Palm  linked  in  palm  we  stood  awhile 
And  watched  the  raindrops  dot  the  sand ; 
Until  the  anger  of  the  breeze 
Chid  all  the  lake's  bright  breathing  down, 
And  ravished  all  the  radiancies 
From  her  deep  eyes  of  brown. 

We  gazed  from  shelter  on  the  storm, 
And  through  our  hearts  swept  ghostly  pain 
To  see  the  shards  of  day  sweep  past, 
Broken,  and  none  might  mend  again. 


76         THE   BRACELET  OF  GRASS 

Broken,  that  none  shall  ever  mend; 
Loosened,  that  none  shall  ever  tie. 
O  the  wind  and  the  wind,  will  it  never  end? 
O  the  sweeping  past  of  the  ruined  sky ! 


THE  DEPARTURE 

I 

I  SAT  beside  the  glassy  evening  sea, 

One  foot  upon  the  thin  horn  of,  my  lyre, 

And  all  its  strings  of  laughter  and  desire 

Crushed  in  the  rank  wet  grasses  heedlessly; 

Nor  did  my  dull  eyes  care  to  question  how 

The  boat  close  by  had  spread  its  saffron  sails, 

Nor  what  might  mean  the  coffers  and  the  bales, 

And  streaks  of  new  wine  on  the  gilded  prow. 

Neither  was  wonder  in  me  when  I  saw 

Fair  women  step  therein,  though  they  were  fair 

Even  to  adoration  and  to  awe, 

And  in  the  gracious  fillets  of  their  hair 

Were  blossoms  from  a  garden  I  had  known, 

Sweet  mornings  ere  the  apple  buds  were  blown. 

II 

One  gazed  steadfast  into  the  dying  west 
With  lips  apart  to  greet  the  evening  star; 
And  one  with  eyes  that  caught  the  strife  and  jar 
Of  the  sea's  heart,  followed  the  sunward  breast 


78  THE   DEPARTURE 

Of  a  lone  gull ;  from  a  slow  harp  one  drew 

Blind  music  like  a  laugh  or  like  a  wail ; 

And  in  the  uncertain  shadow  of  the  sail 

One  wove  a  crown  of  berries  and  of  yew. 

Yet  even  as  I  said  with  dull  desire, 

1  'All  these  were  mine,  and  one  was  mine  indeed," 

The  smoky  music  burst  into  a  fire, 

And  I  was  left  alone  in  my  great  need, 

One  foot  upon  the  thin  horn  of  my  lyre 

And  all  its  strings  crushed  in  the  dripping  weed. 


FADED   PICTURES 

ONLY  two  patient  eyes  to  stare 

Out  of  the  canvas.   All  the  rest  - 

The  warm  green  gown,  the  small  hands  pressed 

Light  in  the  lap,  the  braided  hair 

That  must  have  made  the  sweet  low  brow 
So  earnest,  centuries  ago, 
When  some  one  saw  it  change  and  glow  — 
All  faded!  Just  the  eyes  burn  now. 

I  dare  say  people  pass  and  pass 
Before  the  blistered  little  frame, 
And  dingy  work  without  a  name 
Stuck  in  behind  its  square  of  glass. 

But  I,  well,  I  left  Raphael  ' 
Just  to  come  drink  these  eyes  of  hers, 
To  think  away  the  stains  and  blurs 
And  make  all  new  again  and  well. 

Only,  for  tears  my  head  will  bow, 
Because  there  on  my  heart's  last  wall, 
Scarce  one  tint  left  to  tell  it  all, 
A  picture  keeps  its  eyes,  somehow. 


A  GREY  DAY 

GREY  drizzling  mists  the  moorlands  drape, 

Rain  whitens  the  dead  sea, 

From  headland  dim  to  sullen  cape 

Grey  sails  creep  wearily. 

I  know  not  how  that  merchantman 

Has  found  the  heart;  but  't  is  her  plan 

Seaward  her  endless  course  to  shape. 

Unreal  as  insects  that  appall 
A  drunkard's  peevish  brain, 
O'er  the  grey  deep  the  dories  crawl, 
Four-legged,  with  rowers  twain: 
Midgets  and  minims  of  the  earth, 
Across  old  ocean's  vasty  girth 
Toiling  —  heroic,  comical ! 

I  wonder  how  that  merchant's  crew 

Have  ever  found  the  will ! 

I  wonder  what  the  fishers  do 

To  keep  them  toiling  still ! 

I  wonder  how  the  heart  of  man 

Has  patience  to  live  out  its  span, 

Or  wait  until  its  dreams  come  true. 


THE   RIDE  BACK 

Before  the  coming  of  the  dark,  he  dreamed 
An  old-world  faded  story:  of  a  knight, 
Much  like  in  need  to  him,  who  was  no  knight! 
And  of  a  road,  much  like  the  road  his  soul 
Groped  over,  desperate  to  meet  Her  soul. 
Beside  the  bed  Death  waited.  And  he  dreamed. 

His  limbs  were  heavy  from  the  fight, 
His  mail  was  dark  with  dust  and  blood; 
On  this  good  horse  they  bound  him  tight, 
And  on  his  breast  they  bound  the  rood 
To  help  him  in  the  ride  that  night. 

When  he  crashed  through  the  wood's  wet  rim, 
About  the  dabbled  reeds  a  breeze 
Went  moaning  broken  words  and  dim ; 
The  haggard  shapes  of  twilight  trees 
Caught  with  their  scrawny  hands  at  him. 

Between  the  doubtful  aisles  of  day 
Strange  folk  and  lamentable  stood 


82  THE  RIDE   BACK 

To  maze  and  beckon  him  astray, 

But  through  the  grey  wrath  of  the  wood 

He  held  right  on  his  bitter  way. 

When  he  came  where  the  trees  were  thin, 
The  moon  sat  waiting  there  to  see; 
On  her  worn  palm  she  laid  her  chin, 
And  laughed  awhile  in  sober  glee 

To  think  how  strong  this  knight  had  been, 
i 

When  he  rode  past  the  pallid  lake 
The  withered  yellow  stems  of  flags 
Stood  breast-high  for  his  horse  to  break ; 
Lewd  as  the  palsied  lips  of  hags 
The  petals  in  the  moon  did  shake. 

When  he  came  by  the  mountain  wall, 
The  snow  upon  the  heights  looked  down 
And  said,  "The  sight  is  pitiful. 
The  nostrils  of  his  steed  are  brown 
With  frozen  blood;  and  he  will  fall." 

The  iron  passes  of  the  hills 
\Vith  question  were  importunate; 
And,  but  the  sharp-tongued  icy  rills 


THE   RIDE   BACK  83 

Had  grown  for  once  compassionate, 
The  spiteful  shades  had  had  their  wills. 

Just  when  the  ache  in  breast  and  brain 
And  the  frost  smiting  at  his  face 
Had  sealed  his  spirit  up  with  pain, 
He  came  out  in  a  better  place, 
And  morning  lay  across  the  plain. 

He  saw  the  wet  snails  crawl  and  cling 
On  fern-stalks  where  the  rime  had  run, 
The  careless  birds  went  wing  and  wing, 
And  in  the  low  smile  of  the  sun 
Life  seemed  almost  a  pleasant  thing. 

Right  on  the  panting  charger  swung 
Through  the  bright  depths  of  quiet  grass; 
The  knight's  lips  moved  as  if  they  sung, 
And  through  the  peace  there  came  to  pass 
The  flattery  of  lute  and  tongue. 

From  the  mid-flowering  of  the  mead 
There  swelled  a  sob  of  minstrelsy, 
Faint  sackbuts  and  the  dreamy  reed, 
And  plaintive  lips  of  maids  thereby, 
And  songs  blown  out  like  thistle  seed. 


84  THE  RIDE  BACK 

Forth  from  her  maidens  came  the  bride, 
And  as  his  loosened  rein  fell  slack" 
He  muttered,  "In  their  throats  they  lied 
Who  said  that  I  should  ne'er  win  back 
To  kiss  her  lips  before  I  died!" 


SONG-FLOWER  AND   POPPY 


IN   NEW  YORK 

HE  plays  the  deuce  with  my  writing  time, 
For  the  penny  my  sixth-floor  neighbor  throws; 
He  finds  me  proud  of  my  pondered  rhyme, 
And  he  leaves  me  —  well,  God  knows 
It  takes  the  shine  from  a  tunester's  line 
When  a  little  mate  of  the  deathless  Nine 
Pipes  up  under  your  nose ! 

For  listen,  there  is  his  voice  again, 

Wistful  and  clear  and  piercing  sweet. 

Where  did  the  boy  find  such  a  strain 

To  make  a  dead  heart  beat? 

And  how  in  the  name  of  care  can  he  bear 

To  jet  such  a  fountain  into  the  air 

In  this  grey  gulch  of  a  street? 

Tuscan  slopes  or  the  Piedmontese? 

Umbria  under  the  Apennine? 

South,  where  the  terraced  lemon-trees 


86         SONG-FLOWER  AND   POPPY 

Round  rich  Sorrento  shine? 
Venice  moon  on  the  smooth  lagoon?  - 
Where  have  I  heard  that  aching  tune, 
That  boyish  throat  divine? 

Beyond  my  roofs  and  chimney  pots 
A  rag  of  sunset  crumbles  grey; 
Below,  fierce  radiance  hangs  in  clots 
O'er  the  streams  that  never  stay. 
Shrill  and  high,  newsboys  cry 
The  worst  of  the  city's  infamy 
For  one  more  sordid  day. 

But  my  desire  has  taken  sail 
For  lands  beyond,  sof t-horizoned : 
Down  languorous  leagues  I  hold  the  trail, 
From  Marmalada,  steeply  throned 
Above  high  pastures  washed  with  light, 
Where  dolomite  by  dolomite 
Looms  sheer  and  spectral-coned, 

To  purple  vineyards  looking  south 
On  reaches  of  the  still  Tyrrhene; 
Virgilian  headlands,  and  the  mouth 
Of  Tiber,  where  that  ship  put  in 


SONG-FLOWER  AND   POPPY         87 

To  take  the  dead  men  home  to  God, 
Whereof  Casella  told  the  mode 
To  the  great  Florentine. 

Up  stairways  blue  with  flowering  weed 

I  climb  to  hill-hung  Bergamo; 

All  day  I  watch  the  thunder  breed 

Golden  above  the  springs  of  Po, 

Till  the  voice  makes  sure  its  wavering  lure, 

And  by  Assisi's  portals  pure 

I  stand,  with  heart  bent  low. 

O  hear,  how  it  blooms  in  the  blear  dayfall, 

That  flower  of  passionate  wistful  song! 

How  it  blows  like  a  rose  by  the  iron  wall 

Of  the  city  loud  and  strong. 

How  it  cries  "Nay,  nay"  to  the  worldling's  way, 

To  the  heart's  clear  dream  how  it  whispers,  "  Yea; 

Time  comes,  though  the  time  is  long." 

Beyond  my  roofs  and  chimney  piles 
Sunset  crumbles,  ragged,  dire; 
The  roaring  street  is  hung  for  miles 
With  fierce  electric  fire. 
Shrill  and  high,  newsboys  cry 


88        SONG-FLOWER  AND   POPPY 

The  gross  of  the  planet's  destiny 
Through  one  more  sullen  gyre. 

Stolidly  the  town  flings  down 
Its  lust  by  day  for  its  nightly  lust; 
Who  does  his  given  stint,  't  is  known, 
Shall  have  his  mug  and  crust.  — 
Too  base  of  mood,  too  harsh  of  blood, 
Too  stout  to  seize  the  grosser  good, 
Too  hungry  after  dust ! 

O  hark!  how  it  blooms  in  the  falling  dark, 
That  flower  of  mystical  yearning  song : 
Sad  as  a  hermit  thrush,  as  a  lark 
Uplifted,  glad,  and  strong. 
Heart,  we  have  chosen  the  better  part ! 
Save  sacred  love  and  sacred  art 
Nothing  is  good  for  long. 

II 

AT   ASSIST 

Before  St.  Francis*  burg  I  wait, 
Frozen  in  spirit,  faint  with  dread ; 
His  presence  stands  within  the  gate, 
Mild  splendor  rings  his  head. 


SONG-FLOWER  AND   POPPY         89 

Gently  he  seems  to  welcome  me: 
Knows  he  not  I  am  quick,  and  he 
Is  dead,  and  priest  of  the  dead? 

I  turn  away  from  the  grey  church  pile ; 

I  dare  not  enter,  thus  undone: 

Here  in  the  roadside  grass  awhile 

I  will  lie  and  watch  for  the  sun. 

Too  purged  of  earth's  good  glee  and  strife, 

Too  drained  of  the  honfed  lusts  of  life, 

Was  the  peace  these  old  saints  won ! 

And  lo !  how  the  laughing  earth  says  no 

To  trie  fear  that  mastered  me; 

To  the  blood  that  aches  and  clamors  so 

How  it  whispers  "Verily." 

Here  by  my  side,  marvelous-dyed, 

Bold  stray-away  from  the  courts  of  pride, 

A  poppy-bell  flaunts  free,  v 

St.  Francis  sleeps  upon  his  hill, 

And  a  poppy  flower  laughs  down  his  creed; 

Triumphant  light  her  petals  spill, 

His  shrines  are  dim  indeed. 

Men  build  and  plan,  but  the  soul  of  man, 


90         SONG-FLOWER  AND   POPPY 

Coming  with  haughty  eyes  to  scan, 
Feels  richer,  wilder  need. 

How  long,  old  builder  Time,  wilt  bide 

Till  at  thy  thrilling  word 

Life's  crimson  pride  shall  have  to  bride 

The  spirit's  white  accord, 

Within  that  gate  of  good  estate 

Which  thou  must  build  us  soon  or  late, 

Hoar  workman  of  the  Lord? 


HOW  THE  MEAD-SLAVE  WAS  SET 
FREE 

NAY,  move  not!  Sit  just  as  you  are, 
Under  the  carved  wings  of  the  chair. 
The  hearth-glow  sifting  through  your  hair 
Turns  every  dim  pearl  to  a  star 
Dawn-drowned  in  floods  of  brightening  air. 

I  have  been  thinking  of  that  night 
When  all  the  wide  hall  burst  to  blaze 
With  spears  caught  up,  thrust  fifty  ways 
To  find  my  throat,  while  I  lay  white 
And  sick  with  joy,  to  think  the  days 

I  dragged  out  in  your  hateful  North  — 
A  slave,  constrained  at  banquet's  need 
To  fill  the  black  bull's  horns  with  mead 
For  drunken  sea- thieves  —  were  henceforth 
Cast  from  me  as  a  poison  weed, 

While  Death  thrust  roses  in  my  hands! 
But  you,  who  knew  the  flowers  he  had 


92       THE   MEAD-SLAVE   SET   FREE 

Were  no  such  roses  ripe  and  glad 
As  nod  in  my  far  southern  lands, 
But  pallid  things  to  make  men  sad, 

Put  back  the  spears  with  one  calm  hand, 
Raised  on  your  knee  my  wondering  head, 
Wiped  off  the  trickling  drops  of  red 
From  my  torn  forehead  with  a  strand 
Of  your  bright  loosened  hair,  and  said : 

"Sea-rovers!  would  you  kill  a  skald? 
This  boy  has  hearkened  Odin  sing 
Unto  the  clang  and  winnowing 
Of  raven's  wings.   His  heart  is  thralled 
To  music,  as  to  some  strong  king; 

"And  this  great  thraldom  works  disdain 
Of  lesser  serving.   Once  release 
These  bonds  he  bears,  and  he  may  please 
To  give  you  guerdon  sweet  as  rain 
To  sailors  calmed  in  thirsty  seas." 

Then,  having  soothed  their  rage  to  rest, 
You  led  me  to  old  Skagi's  throne, 
Where  yellow  gold  rims  in  the  stone; 


THE  MEAD-SLAVE  SET  FREE      93 

And  in  my  arms,  against  my  breast, 
Thrust  his  great  harp  of  walrus  bone. 

How  they  came  crowding,  tunes  on  tunes! 
How  good  it  was  to  touch  the  strings 
And  feel  them  thrill  like  happy  things 
That  flutter  from  the  grey  cocoons 
On  hedge  rows,  in  your  gradual  springs ! 

All  grew  a  blur  before  my  sight, 
As  when  the  stealthy  white  fog  slips 
At  noonday  on  the  staggering  ships; 
I  saw  one  single  spot  of  light, 
Your  white  face,  with  its  eager  lips  - 

And  so  I  sang  to  that.   O  thou 

Who  liftedst  me  from  out  my  shame! 

Wert  thou  content  when  Skagi  came, 

Put  his  own  chaplet  on  my  brow, 

And  bent  and  kissed  his  own  harp-frame? 


A  DIALOGUE   IN   PURGATORY 

Poi  disse  un  altro.  .  .  .  "lo  son  Buonconte: 
Giovanna  o  altri  non  ha  di  me  cura; 
Per  ch'  io  vo  tra  costor  con  bassa  fronte." 

Seguito  il  terzo  spirito  al  secondo, 
"Ricorditi  di  me,  che  son  la  Pia; 
Siena  wife,  disfecemi  Maremma. 
Salsi  colni  che  inannellata  pria 
Disposata  m'  avea  colla  sna  gemma" 

PURGATORIO,  CANTO  V. 

I 
BUONCONTE 

SISTER,  the  sun  has  ceased  to  shine; 
By  companies  of  twain  and  trine 
Stars  gather;  from  the  sea 
The  moon  comes  momently. 

On  all  the  roads  that  ring  our  hill 
The  sighing  and  the  hymns  are  still; 
It  is  our  time  to  gain 
Strength  for  to-morrow's  pain. 

Yet  still  your  eyes  are  wholly  bent 
Upon  the  way  that  Virgil  went, 


A   DIALOGUE   IN   PURGATORY      95 

Following  Bordello's  sign, 
With  the  dark  Florentine. 

Night  now  has  barred  their  upward  track: 
There  where  the  mountain-side  folds  back 
And  in  the  Vale  of  Flowers 
The  Princes  count  their  hours 

Those  three  friends  sit  in  the  clear  starlight 
With  the  green-clad  angels  left  and  right, — 
Soul  made  by  wakeful  soul 
More  earnest  for  the  goal. 

So  let  us,  sister,  though  our  place 
Is  barren  of  that  Valley's  grace, 
Sit  hand  in  hand,  till  we 
Seem  rich  as  those  friends  be. 

*    II 

LA   PIA 

Brother,  't  were  sweet  your  hand  to  feel 
In  mine;  it  would  a  little  heal 
The  shame  that  makes  me  poor, 
And  dumb  at  the  heart's  core. 


96      A   DIALOGUE   IN    PURGATORY 

But  where  our  spirits  felt  Love's  dearth, 
Down  on  the  green  and  pleasant  earth, 
.  Remains  the  fleshly  shell, 
Love's  garment  tangible. 

So  now  our  hands  have  naught  to  say : 
Heart  unto  heart  some  other  way 
Must  utter  forth  its  pain, 
Must  glee  or  comfort  gain. 

Ah,  no !  For  souls  like  you  and  me 
Some  comfort  waits,  but  never  glee: 
Not  yours  the  young  men's  singing 
In  Heaven,  at  the  bride-bringing; 

Not  mine,  beside  God's  living  waters, 
Dance  of  the  marriageable  daughters, 
The  laughter  and  the  ease 
Beneath  His  summer  trees. 

Ill     * 

BUONCONTE 

In  fair  Arezzo's  halls  and  bowers 
My  Giovanna  speeds  her  hours 
Delicately,  nor  cares 
To  shorten  by  her  prayers 


A  DIALOGUE  IN   PURGATORY      97 

My  days  upon  this  mount  of  ruth: 

If  those  who  come  from  earth  speak  sooth, 

Though  still  I  call  and  call, 

She  does  not  heed  at  all. 

And  if  aright  your  words  I  read 
At  Dante's  passing,  he  you  wed 
Dipped  from  the  drains  of  Hell 
The  marriage  hydromel. 

O  therefore,  while  the  moon  intense 
Holds  yonder  dreaming  sea  suspense, 
And  round  the  shadowy  coasts 
Gather  the  wistful  ghosts, 

Let  us  sit  quiet  all  the  night, 
And  wonder,  wonder  on  the  light 
Worn  by  those  spirits  fair 
Whom  Love  has  not  left  bare. 

IV 

LA   PIA 

Even  as  theirs,  the  chance  was  mine 
To  meet*  and  mate  beneath  Love's  sign, 
To  feel  in  soul  and  sense 
The  solemn  influence 


98      A   DIALOGUE   IN   PURGATORY 

Which,  breathed  upon  a  man  or  maid, 
Maketh  forever  unafraid, 
Though  life  with  death  unite 
That  spirit  to  affright,  - 

Which  lifts  the  changed  heart  high  up, 
As  the  priest  lifts  the  changed  cup, 
Boldens  the  feet  to  pace 
Before  God's  proving  face. 

0  just  a  thought  beyond  the  blue 

The  wings  of  the  dove  yearned  down  and  through ! 
Even  now  I  hear  and  hear 
How  near  they  were,  how  near! 

1  murmur  not.    Rightly  disgraced, 

The  weak  hand  stretched  abroad  in  haste 
For  gifts  barely  allowed 
The  tacit,  strong,  and  proud. 

But  therefore  was  I  so  intent 

To  watch  where  Dante  onward  went 

With  the  Roman  spirit  pure 

And  the  grave  troubadour, 

Because  my  mind  was  busy  then 

With  the  loves  that  wait  those  gentle  men: 


A  DIALOGUE   IN   PURGATORY      99 

Cunizza  one ;  and  one 
Bice,  above  the  sun ; 

And  for  the  other,  more  and  less 
Than  woman's  near-felt  tenderness, 
A  million  voices  dim 
Praising  him,  praising  him. 

V 

BUONCONTE 

The  waves  that  wash  this  mountain's  base 
Were  crimson  in  the  sun's  low  rays, 
When,  singing  high  and  fast, 
An  angel  downward  passed, 

To  bid  some  patient  soul  arise 
And  make  it  fair  for  Paradise; 
And  upward,  so  attended, 
That  soul  its  journey  wended; 

Yet  you,  who  in  these  lower  rings 
Wait  for  the  coming  of  such  wings, 
Turned  not  your  eyes  to  view 
Whether  they  came  for  you, 


ioo    A   DIALOGUE  IN   PURGATORY 

But  watched,  but  watched  great  Virgil  stayed 
Greeting  Sordello's  couchant  shade, 
Which  to  salute  him  rose 
Like  lion  from  its  pose; 

While  humbly  by  those  lords  of  song 
Stood  he  whose  living  limbs  are  strong 
To  mount  where  Mary's  bliss 
Is  shed  on  Beatrice. 

On  him  your  gaze  was  fastened,  more 
Than  on  those  great  names  Mantua  bore; 
Your  eyes  hold  the  distress 
Still,  of  that  wistfulness. 

Yea,  fit  he  seemed  much  love  to  rouse 
His  pilgrim  lips  and  iron  brows 
Grew  like  a  woman's,  dim, 
While  you  held  speech  with  him ; 

And  troubled  came  his  mortal  breath 
The  while  I  told  him  of  my  death ; 
His  looks  were  changed  and  wan 
When  Virgil  led  him  on. 


A  DIALOGUE   IN   PURGATORY     101 
VI 

LA  PIA 

E'er  since  Casella  came  this  morn, 
Newly  o'er  yonder  ocean  borne, 
Bound  upward  for  the  choir 
Who  purge  themselves  in  fire, 

And  from  that  meinie  he  was  of 
Stayed  backward  at  my  cry  of  love, 
To  speak  awhile  with  me 
Of  life  and  Tuscany, 

And,  parting,  told  us  how  e'er  day 
Was  done,  Dante  would  come  this  way, 
With  mortal  feet,  to  find 
His  sweetheart,  sky-enshrined,  - 

E'er  since  Casella  spoke  such  news 
My  heart  has  lain  in  a  golden  muse, 
Picturing  him  and  her, 
What  starry  ones  they  were. 

And  now  the  moon  sheds  its  compassion 
O'er  the  hushed  mount,  I  try  to  fashion 


102     A   DIALOGUE   IN   PURGATORY 

The  manner  of  their  meeting, 
Their  few  first  words  of  greeting. 

O  well  for  them,  with  clasped  hands, 
Unshamed  amid  the  heavenly  bands! 
They  hear  no  pitying  pair 
Of  old-time  lovers  there 

Look  down  and  say  in  an  undertone, 
"This  latest-come,  who  comes  alone, 
Was  still  alone  on  earth, 
And  lonely  from  his  birth." 

Nor  feel  a  sudden  whisper  mar 
God's  weather,  "Dost  thou  see  the  scar 
That  spirit  hideth  so? 
Who  dealt  her  such  a  blow 

"That  God  can  hardly  wipe  it  out?" 
And  answer,  "She  gave  love,  no  doubt, 
To  one  who  saw  not  fit 
To  set  much  store  by  it." 


THE  DAGUERREOTYPE 

THIS,  then,  is  she, 

My  mother  as  she  looked  at  seventeen, 

When  she  first  met  my  father.  Young  incredibly, 

Younger  than  spring,  without  the  faintest  trace 

Of  disappointment,  weariness,  or  tean 

Upon  the  childlike  earnestness  and  grace 

Of  the  waiting  face. 

These  close-wound  ropes  of  pearl 

(Or  common  beads  made  precious  by  their  use) 

Seem  heavy  for  so  slight  a  throat  to  wear; 

But  the  low  bodice  leaves  the  shoulders  bare 

And  half  the  glad  swell  of  the  breast,  for  news 

That  now  the  woman  stirs  within  the  girl. 

And  yet, 

Even  so,  the  loops  and  globes 

Of  beaten  gold 

And  jet 

Hung,  in  the  stately  way  of  old, 

From  the  ears'  drooping  lobes 

On  festivals  and  Lord's-day  of  the  week, 

Show  all  too  matron-sober  for  the  cheek,  — 


104  THE   DAGUERREOTYPE 

Which,  now  I  look  again,  is  perfect  child, 
Or  no  —  or  no  -  -  't  is  girlhood's  very  self, 
Moulded  by  some  deep,  mischief-ridden  elf 
So  meek,  so  maiden  mild, 
But  startling  the  close  gazer  with  the  sense 
Of  passions  forest-shy  and  forest- wild, 
And  delicate  delirious  merriments. 

As  a  moth  beats  sidewise 

And  up  and  over,  and  tries 

To  skirt  the  irresistible  lure 

Of  the  flame  that  has  him  sure, 

My  spirit,  that  is  none  too  strong  to-day, 

Flutters  and  makes  delay,  - 

Pausing  to  wronder  on  the  perfect  lips, 

Lifting  to  muse  upon  the  low-drawn  hair 

And  each  hid  radiance  there, 

But  powerless  to  stem  the  tide-race  bright, 

The  vehement  peace  which  drifts  it  toward  the 

light 

Where  soon  —  ah,  now,  with  cries 
Of  grief  and  giving-up  unto  its  gain 
It  shrinks  no  longer  nor  denies, 
But  dips 
Hurriedly  home  to  the  exquisite  heart  of  pain,  — 


THE   DAGUERREOTYPE  105 

And  all  is  well,  for  I  have  seen  them  plain, 
The  unforgettable,  the  unforgotten  eyes! 
Across  the  blinding  gush  of  these  good  tears 
They  shine  as  in  the  sweet  and  heavy  years 
When  by  her  bed  and  chair 
We  children  gathered  jealously  to  share 
The  sunlit  aura  breathing  myrrh  and  thyme, 
Where  the  sore-stricken  body  made  a  clime 
Gentler  than  May  and  pleasanter  than  rhyme, 
Holier  and  more  mystical  than  prayer. 

God,  how  thy  ways  are  strange! 

That  this  should  be,  even  this, 

The  patient  head 

Which  suffered  years  ago  the  dreary  change ! 

That  these  so  dewy  lips  should  be  the  same 

As  those  I  stooped  to  kiss 

And  heard  my  harrowing  half-spoken  name, 

A  little  ere  the  one  who  bowed  above  her, 

Our  father  and  her  very  constant  lover, 

Rose  stoical,  and  we  knew  that  she  was  dead. 

Then  I,  who  could  not  understand  or  share 

His  antique  nobleness, 

Being  unapt  to  bear 

The  insults  which  time  flings  us  for  our  proof, 


1 06  THE   DAGUERREOTYPE 

Fled  from  the  horrible  roof 

Into  the  alien  sunshine  merciless, 

The  shrill  satiric  fields  ghastly  with  day, 

Raging  to  front  God  in  his  pride  of  sway 

And  hurl  across  the  lifted  swords  of  fate 

That  ringed  Him  where  He  sat 

My  puny  gage  of  scorn  and  desolate  hate 

Which  somehow  should  undo  Him,  after  all ! 

That  this  girl  face,  expectant,  virginal, 

Which  gazes  out  at  me  t 

Boon  as  a  sweetheart,  as  if  nothing  loth 

(Save  for  the  eyes,  with  other  presage  stored) 

To  pledge  me  troth, 

And  in  the  kingdom  where  the  heart  is  lord 

Take  sail  on  the  terrible  gladness  of  the  deep 

Whose  winds  the  grey  Norns  keep,  — 

That  this  should  be  indeed 

The  flesh  which  caught  my  soul,  a  flying  seed, 

Out  of  the  to  and  fro 

Of  scattering  hands  where  the  seedsman  Mage, 

Stooping  from  star  to  star  and  age  to  age 

Sings  as  he  sows! 

That  underneath  this  breast 

Nine  moons  I  fed 

Deep  of  divine  unrest, 


THE   DAGUERREOTYPE  107 

While  over  and  over  in  the  dark  she  said, 

"  Blessed !  but  not  as  happier  children  blessed  " 

That  this  should  be 

Even  she.  .  .  . 

God,  how  with  time  and  change 

Thou  makest  thy  footsteps  strange! 

Ah,  now  I  know 

They  play  upon  me,  and  it  is  not  so. 

Why,  't  is  a  girl  I  never  saw  before, 

A  little  thing  to  flatter  and  make  weep, 

To  tease  until  her  heart  is  sore, 

Then  kiss  and  clear  the  score; 

A  gypsy  run-the-fields, 

A  little  liberal  daughter  of  the  earth, 

Good  for  what  hour  of  truancy  and  mirth 

The  careless  season  yields 

Hither-side  the  flood  of  the  year  and  yonder  of 

the  neap ; 
Then  thank  you,  thanks  again,  and  twenty  light 

good-byes.  — 
O  shrined  above  the  skies, 
Frown  not,  clear  brow, 
Darken  not,  holy  eyes! 
Thou  knowest  well  I  know  that  it  is  thou! 
Only  to  save  me  from  such  memories 


io8  THE   DAGUERREOTYPE 

As  would  unman  me  quite, 

Here  in  this  web  of  strangeness  caught 

And  prey  to  troubled  thought 

Do  I  devise 

These  foolish  shifts  and  slight; 

Only  to  shield  me  from  the  afflicting  sense 

Of  some  waste  influence 

Which  from  this  morning  face  an,d  lustrous  hair 

Breathes  on  me  sudden  ruin  and  despair. 

In  any  other  guise, 

With  any  but  this  girlish  depth  of  gaze, 

Your  coming  had  not  so  unsealed  and  poured 

The  dusty  amphoras  where  I  had  stored 

The  drippings  of  the  winepress  of  my  days. 

I  think  these  eyes  foresee, 

Now  in  their  unawakened  virgin  time, 

Their  mother's  pride  in  me, 

And  dream  even  now,  unconsciously, 

Upon  each  soaring  peak  and  sky-hung  lea 

You  pictured  I  should  climb. 

Broken  premonitions  come, 

Shapes,  gestures  visionary, 

Not  as  once  to  maiden  Mary 

The  manifest  angel  with  fresh  lilies  came 

Intelligibly  calling  her  by  name; 


THE   DAGUERREOTYPE  109 

But  vanishingly,  dumb, 

Thwarted  and  bright  and  wild, 

As  heralding  a  sin-defiled, 

Earth-encumbered,    blood-begotten,    passionate 

man-child, 

Who  yet  should  be  a  trump  of  mighty  call 
Blown  in  the  gates  of  evil  kings 
To  make  them  fall ; 

Who  yet  should  be  a  sword  of  flame  before 
The  soul's  inviolate  door 
To  beat  away  the  clang  of  hellish  wings; 
Who  yet  should  be  a  lyre 
Of  high  unquenchable  desire 
In  the  day  of  little  things.  - 
Look,  where  the  amphoras, 
The  yield  of  many  days, 
Trod  by  my  hot  soul  from  the  pulp  of  self 
And  set  upon  the  shelf 
In  sullen  pride 

The  Vineyard-master's  tasting  to  abide  — 
O  mother  mine ! 

Are  these  the  bringings-in,  the  doings  fine, 
Of  him  you  used  to  praise? 
Emptied  and  overthrown 
The  jars  lie  strown. 


i io  THE  DAGUERREOTYPE 

These,  for  their  flavor  duly  nursed, 

Drip  from  the  stopples  vinegar  accursed ; 

These,  I  thought  honied  to  the  very  seal, 

Dry,  dry,  —  a  little  acid  meal, 

A  pinch  of  mouldy  dust, 

Sole  leavings  of  the  amber-mantling  must; 

These,  rude  to  look  upon, 

But  flasking  up  the  liquor  dearest  won, 

Through  sacred  hours  and  hard, 

With  watching  and  with  wrestlings  and  with  grief, 

Even  of  these,  of  these  in  chief, 

The  stale  breath  sickens,  reeking  from  the  shard. 

Nothing  is  left.   Ay,  how  much  less  than  naught! 

What  shall  be  said  or  thought 

Of  the  slack  hours  and  waste  imaginings, 

The  cynic  rending  of  the  wings, 

Known  to  that  froward,  that  unreckoning  heart 

Whereof  this  brewage  was  the  precious  part, 

Treasured  and  set  away  with  furtive  boast? 

O  dear  and  cruel  ghost, 

Be  merciful,  be  just! 

See,  I  was  yours  and  I  am  in  the  dust. 

Then  look  not  so,  as  if  all  things  were  well ! 

Take  your  eyes  from  me,  leave  me  to  my  shame, 

Or  else,  if  gaze  they  must, 


THE   DAGUERREOTYPE  in 

Steel  them  with  judgment,  darken  them  with 

blame; 

But  by  the  ways  of  light  ineffable 
You  bade  me  go  and  I  have  faltered  from, 
By  the  low  waters  moaning  out  of  hell 
Whereto  my  feet  have  come, 

Lav  not  on  me  these  intolerable 

•. 

Looks  of  rejoicing  love,  of  pride,  of  happy  trust! 

Nothing  dismayed? 

By  all  I  say  and  all  I  hint  not  made 

Afraid? 

O  then,  stay  by  me!  Let 

These  eyes  afflict  me,  cleanse  me,  keep  me  yet 

Brave  eyes  and  true! 

See  how  the  shriveled  heart,  that  long  has  lain 

Dead  to  delight  and  pain, 

Stirs,  and  begins  again 

To  utter  pleasant  life,  as  if  it  knew 

The  wintry  days  were  through ; 

As  if  in  its  awakening  boughs  it  heard 

The  quick,  sweet-spoken  bird. 

Strong  eyes  and  brave, 

Inexorable  to  save! 


SECOND  COMING 
&nt>  Stater 


SECOND   COMING 

ONCE,  by  an  arch  of  ancient  stone, 

Beneath  Italian  olive-trees 
(In  pentecostal  youth,  too  prone 

To  visions  such  as  these), 

And  now  a  second  time,  to-day, 
Yonder,  an  hour  ago!   T  is  strange. 
-  The  hot  beach  shelving  to  the  bay, 
That  far  white  mountain  range, 

The  motley  town  where  Turk  and  Greek 

Spit  scorn  and  hatred  as  I  pass; 
Seraglio  windows,  doors  that  reek 

Sick  perfume  of  the  mass ; 

The  muezzin  cry  from  Allah's  tower, 
French  sailors  singing  in  the  street; 

The  Western  meets  the  Eastern  power, 
And  mingles  —  this  is  Crete. 

Yonder  on  snowy  Ida,  Zeus 

Was  cradled;  through  those  mountain  haunts 


ii6  SECOND   COMING 

The  new  moon  hurried,  letting  loose 
The  raving  Corybants, 

Who  after  thrid  the  Cyclades 

To  Thebes  of  Cadmos,  with  the  slim 

Wild  god  for  whom  Euripides 
Fashioned  the  deathless  hymn. 

And  yonder,  ere  in  Ajalon 

Young  Judah's  lion  ramped  for  war, 
Daedalus  built  the  Knossian 

House  of  the  Minotaur. 

—  'T  is  strange !  No  wonder  and  no  drea^ 
Was  on  me;  hardly  even  surprise. 

I  knew  before  he  raised  his  head 
Or  fixed  me  with  his  eyes 

That  it  was  he;  far  off  I  knew 
The  leaning  figure  by  the  boat, 

The  long  straight  gown  of  faded  hue; 
The  hair  that  round  his  throat 

Fell  forward  as  he  bent  in  speech 
Above  the  naked  sailor  there, 


SECOND   COMING  117 

Calking  his  vessel  on  the  beach, 
Full  in  the  noonday  glare. 

Sharp  rang  the  sailor's  mallet-stroke 
Pounding  the  tow  into  the  seam; 

He  paused  and  mused,  and  would  have  spoke, 
Lifting  great  eyes  of  dream 

Unto  those  eyes  which  slowly  turned  — 

As  once  before,  even  so  now  - 
Till  full  on  mine  their  passion  burned 

With,  "Yes,  and  is  it  thou?" 

Then  o'er  the  face  about  to  speak 
Again  he  leaned ;  the  sunburnt  hair, 

Fallen  forward,  hid  the  tawny  cheek; 
And  I  who,  for  my  share, 

Had  but  the  instant's  gaze,  no  more, 
And  sweat  and  shuddering  of  the  mind, 

Stumbled  along  the  dazzling  shore, 
Until  a  cool  sweet  wind 

From  far-off  Ida's  silver  caves 

Said,  "Stay";  and  here  I  sit  the  while. 


ii8  SECOND   COMING 

-  Silken  Mediterranean  waves, 
From  isle  to  fabled  isle, 


Flame  softly  north  to  Sunium, 

And  west  by  England's  war-cliff  strong 
To  where  Ulysses'  men  saw  loom 

The  mount  of  Dante's  song. 

As  far  as  where  the  coast-line  dies 
In  sharp  sun-dazzle,  goes  the  light 

Dance-dance  of  amber  butterflies 
Above  the  beach-flowers,  bright 

And  jealous  as  the  sudden  blood 
The  lovers  of  these  island  girls 

Spill  in  their  frays ;  o'er  flower  and  bud 
The  light  dance  dips  and  whirls. 

And  all  my  being,  for  an  hour, 

Has  sat  in  stupor,  without  thought, 

Empty  of  memory,  love,  or  power, 
A  dumb  wild  creature  caught 

In  toils  of  purpose  not  its  own! 

But  now  at  last  the  ebbed  will  turns; 


SECOND   COMING  119 

Feeding  on  spirit,  blood,  and  bone, 
The  ghostly  protest  burns. 

"Yea,  it  is  I,  'tis  I  indeed! 

But  who  art  thou,  and  plannest  what? 
Beyond  all  use,  beyond  all  need! 
Importunate,  unbesought, 

"  Unwelcome,  unendurable ! 

To  the  vague  boy  I  was  before  — 
O  unto  him  thou  earnest  well ; 
But  now,  a  boy  no  more, 

"Firm-seated  in  my  proper  good, 

Clear-operant  in  my  functions  due, 
Potent  and  plenteous  of  my  mood,  — 
What  hast  thou  here  to  do? 

"Yes,  I  have  loved  thee  —  love  thee,  yes; 

But  also  —  hear  'st  thou?  —  also  him 
Who  out  of  Ida's  wilderness 
Over  the  bright  sea-rim, 

"With  shaken  cones  and  mystic  dance, 
To  Dirce  and  her  seven  waters 


120  SECOND   COMING 

Led  on  the  raving  Corybants, 
And  lured  the  Theban  daughters 

"To  play  on  the  delirious  hills 

Three  summer  days,  three  summer  nights, 
Where  wert  thou  when  these  had  their  wills? 
How  liked  thee  their  delights? 

"Past  Melos,  Delos,  to  the  straits, 

The  waters  roll  their  spangled  mirth, 
And  westward,  through  Gibraltar  gates, 
To  my  own  under-earth, 

"My  glad,  great  land,  which  at  the  most 
Knows  that  its  fathers  knew  thee;  so 
Will  spend  for  thee  nor  count  the  cost; 
But  follow  thee?  Ah,  no! 

"Thine  image  gently. fades  from  earth! 

Thy  churches  are  as  empty  shells, 
Dim-plaining  of  thy  words  and  worth, 
And  of  thy  funerals! 

"But  oh,  upon  what  errand,  then, 

Leanest  thou  at  the  sailor's  ear? 
Hast  thou  yet  more  to  say,  that  men 
Have  heard  not,  and  must  hear?" 


OLD   POURQUOI 

'T  WAS  not  yet  night,  but  night  was  due; 
The  earth  had  fallen  chalky-dun; 
Our  road  dipped  straight  as  eye  could  run, 
Between  the  poles,  set  two  and  two, 
And  poplars,  one  and  one, 

Then  rose  to  where  far  roofs  and  spires 
Etched  a  vague  strip  of  Norman  sky: 
The  sea-wind  had  begun  to  sigh 
From  tree  to  tree,  and  up  the  wires 
Slid  its  frail,  mounting  cry. 

All  afternoon  our  minds  had  reveled 
In  steep,  skylarking  enterprise; 
Our  hearts  had  climbed  a  dozen  skies, 
And  fifty  frowning  strongholds  leveled 
Of  Life's  old  enemies. 

A  trifle,  here  and  there,  was  spared 
Till  morning  found  us  more  adept; 
But,  broadly  speaking,  we  had  swept 


122  OLD   POURQUOI 

Earth  of  her  wrongs;  light  had  been  flared 
Where  the  last  Error  slept! 

Then,  nothing  said  and  nothing  seen, 
Misgiving  gripped  us.   Treeless,  bare, 
The  moorland  country  everywhere 
Lay  blackened ;  but  a  powdery  sheen 
Hung  tangled  in  the  air. 

And  Heaven  knows  what  suspense  and  doubt 
Prowled  in  the  dusk!  A  peasant's  door, 
Where  naught  was  visible  before, 
Opened,  and  let  the  lamp  shine  out 
Across  the  crumpled  moor. 

A  stone's-throw  off  some  drowsy  sheep 
Took  fright;  across  a  rise  of  land 
In  shadowy  scamper  went  the  band ; 
Three  bleating  ewes  held  back  to  keep 
Their  coward  young  in  hand. 

And  borne  across  the  shallow  vale, 
Along  the  highway  from  the  town, 
A  voice  the  distance  could  not  drown 
Chanted  an  eerie,  endless  tale, 
Now  shrill,  now  dropping  down 


OLD   POURQUOI  123 

To  querulous,  questioning  minor  song; 
Now  sweeping  in  a  solemn  gust, 
As  if  some  great  dishonoured  dust 
Came  crying  its  ancestral  wrong, 
And  found  no  listener  just. 

And  as  the  voice  drew  nearer  toward, 

It  dropped  through  vague  disastrous  bars, 

Heart-broken  roulades,  sudden  jars 

Of  discord ;  then  superbly  soared 

Into  a  heaven  whose  stars 

Twinkled  to  some  immortal  jest, 
And  satire  was  the  cosmic  mood ;  - 
Upon  which,  down  the  twilight  road, 
With  stolid  haste,  monotonous  zest, 
Shuffled  or  limped  or  strode,  - 

Who?  What?   King  David,  crazed  and  free! 
Hamlet,  grown  old,  and  wandering! 
The  ghost  of  Tiryns'  murdered  king 
Clamorous  by  its  native  sea; 
Or  his  who  made  to  sing 

The  Frogs,  and  set  the  Wasps  to  buzz 
Round  plague-struck  Athens;  the  mid-pain 


124  OLD   POURQUOI 

Of  old  Laocoon ;  Paul  Verlaine, 
In  high  talk  with  the  Man  of  Uz 
Outside  his  prison-pane! 

One  moment  by  the  darkening  West 
We  saw  the  grand  old  grizzled  head, 
The  stricken  face,  the  rolling,  red, 
Quizzical  eyeballs,  the  bared  chest, 
Hairy,  Homeric,  spread 

And  laboring  with  the  grievous  chant, 
The  knotted  "hands  raised  high  and  wrung, 
As,  craning  through  the  gloom,  he  flung 
Into  our  teeth  that  iterant 
Enormous  word  he  sung. 

Then  he  was  gone.   Slow  up  the  hill, 
And  faster  down  the  other  side, 
The  wild  monotonous  question  died ; 
Again  the  sea-wind  whispered  shrill, 
As  if  the  sea  replied. 

I  muttered,  "Did  you  hear?"  and  you 

Nodded.   In  silence  half  a  mile 

We  stumbled  onward:  you  meanwhile 


OLD   POURQUOI  125 

Had  paper  out,  your  pencil  flew 
In  quirk  and  quiddet  vile. 

Till  in  disgust  I  seized  your  hand, 
And  thundered,  "Scratching  music,  clod? 
Getting  his  tune  down?  Suffering  God ! 
Have  you  no  heart  to  understand?" 
One  more  New-England  nod, 

And  "Yes,  I  heard,  my  son,  I  heard. 
A  tune  fit  for  the  mutinous  dead 
To  march  to  when,  Prometheus-led, 
They  storm  high  Heaven!  As  for  his  word, 
Pourquoi?  was  all  he  said!" 

Pourquoi  ?  Pourquoi  ?  Yes,  that  was  all ! 
Only  the  darkest  cry  that  haunts 
The  corridors  of  tragic  chance, 
Couched  in  the  sweet,  satirical, 
Impudent  tongue  of  France. 

Only  the  bitterest  wail  flung  out 
From  worlds  that  traffic  to  their  mart 
Without  a  pilot  or  a  chart; 
With  "What?"  the  body  of  their  doubt, 
And  "Why?"  the  quaking  heart. 


126  OLD   POURQUOI 

Old  bard  and  brother  to  the  Sphinx! 
I  wonder  what  abysmal  luck 
Had  left  your  face  so  planet-struck, 
And  driven  you  on  such  horrid  brinks 
To  play  the  run-amuck. 

I  wonder  down  what  road  to-night 
You  shuffle;  from  what  plunging  star 
Your  gnarled  old  hands  uplifted  are, 
Between  moth-light  and  cockshut-light, 
Calling  young  hearts  to  war! 


I/ 


I   AM  THE  WOMAN 


I  AM  the  Woman,  ark  of  the  law  and  its  breaker, 
Who  chastened  her  step  and  taught  her  knees  to 

be  meek, 
Bridled  and  bitted  her  heart  and  humbled  her 

cheek, 
Parceled  her  will,  and  cried,  "Take  more!"  to  the 

taker, 
Shunned  what  they  told  her  to  shun,  sought  what 

they  bade  her  seek, 
Locked  up  her  mouth  from  scornful  speaking: 

now  it  is  open  to  speak. 

I  am  she  that  is  terribly  fashioned,  the  creature 
Wrought  in  God's  perilous  mood,  in  His  unsafe 

hour. 

The  morning  star  was  mute,  beholding  my  feature, 
Seeing  the  rapture  I  was,  the  shame,  and  the 

power, 

Scared  at  my  manifold  meaning;  he  heard  me  call, 
"O    fairest    among    ten    thousand,    acceptable 

brother!" 


128  I   AM   THE  WOMAN 

And  he  answered  not,  for  doubt;  till  he  saw  me 

crawl 

And  whisper  down  to  the  secret  worm,  "  O  mother, 
Be  not  wroth  in  the  ancient  house;  thy  daughter 

forgets  not  at  all!" 

I  am  the  Woman,  fleer  away, 

Soft  withdrawer  back  from  the  maddened  mate, 

Lurer  inward  and  down  to  the  gates  of  day 

And  crier  there  in  the  gate, 

"What  shall  I  give  for  thee,  wild  one,  say! 

The  long,  slow  rapture  and  patient  anguish  of  life, 

Or  art  thou  minded  a  swifter  way? 

Ask  if  thou  canst,  the  gold,  but  O,  if  thou  must, 

Good  is  the  shining  dross,  lovely  the  dust! 

Look  at  me,  I  am  the  Woman,  harlot  and  heav 
enly  wife; 

Tell  me  thy  price,  be  unashamed ;  I  will  assuredly 
pay!" 

I  am  also  the  Mother:  of  two  that  I  bore 

I  comfort  and  feed  the  slayer,  feed  and  comfort 

the  slain. 
Did  they  number  my  daughters  and  sons?   I  am 

mother  of  more ! 


I   AM   THE  WOMAN  129 

Many  a  head  they  marked  not,  here  in  my  bosom 

has  lain, 

Babbling  with  unborn  lips  in  a  tongue  to  be, 
Far,  incredible  matters,  all  familiar  to  me. 
Still  would  the  man  come  whispering,  "Wife!" 

but  many  a  time  my  breast 
Took  him  not  as  a  husband:  I  soothed  him  and 

laid  him  to  rest 
Even  as  the  babe  of  my  body,  and  knew  him  for 

such. 
My  mouth  is  open  to  speak,  that  was  dumb  too 

much! 
I  say  to  you  I  am  the  Mother;  and  under  the 

sword 
Which  flamed  each  way  to  harry  us  forth  from  the 

Lord, 
I  saw  Him  young  at  the  portal,  weeping  and 

staying  the  rod, 
And  I,  even  I  was  His  mother,  and  I  yearned  as 

the  mother  of  God. 

I  am  also  the  Spirit.  The  Sisters  laughed 
When  I  sat  with  them  dumb  in  the  portals,  over 

my  lamp,  — 
Half  asleep  in  the  doors:  for  my  gown  was  raught 


130  I  AM   THE  WOMAN 

Off  at  the  shoulder  to  shield  from  the  wind  and  the 

rain 

The  wick  I  tended  against  the  mysterious  hour 
When  the  silent  City  of  Being  should  ring  with  song, 
As  the  Lord  came  in  with  Life  to  the  marriage 

bower. 
"Look!"  laughed  the  elder  Sisters;  and  crimson 

with  shame 

I  hid  my  breast  away  from  the  rosy  flame. 
"Ah!"  cried  1^ie  leaning  Sisters,  pointing,  doing 

me  wrong ; 

II  Do  you  see? "  laughed  the  wanton  Sisters.  "She 

will  get  her  a  lover  erelong!" 
And  it  was  but  a  little  while  till  unto  my  need 
He  was  given,  indeed, 
And  we  walked  where  waxing  world  after  world 

went  by ; 

And  I  said  to  my  lover,  "Let  us  begone, 
O,  let  us  begone,  and  try 
Which  of  them  all  the  fairest  to  dwell  in  is, 
Which  is  the  place  for  us,  our  desirable  clime!" 
But  he  said,  "They  are  only  the  huts  and  the  little 

villages, 
Pleasant  to  go  and  lodge  in  rudely  over  the 

vintage- time!" 


I  AM  THE  WOMAN  131 

Scornfully  spake  he,  being  unwise, 

Being  flushed  at  heart  because  of  our  walking 

together. 

But  I  was  mute  with  passionate  prophecies; 
My  heart  went  veiled  and  faint  in  the  golden 

weather, 

While  universe  drifted  by  after  still  universe. 
Then  I  cried,  "Alas,  we  must  hasten  and  lodge 

therein, 
One   after   one,    and   in   every   star   that   they 

shed! 

A  dark  and  a  weary  thing  is  come  on  our  head  — 
To  search  obedience  out  in  the  bosom  of  sin, 
To  listen  deep  for  love  when  thunders  the  curse; 
For  O  my  love,   behold  where  the  Lord  hath 

planted 

In  every  star  in  the  midst  his  dangerous  Tree! 
Still  I  must  pluck  thereof  and  bring  unto  thee, 
Saying,  "The  coolness  for  which  all  night  we  have 

panted ; 

Taste  of  the  goodly  thing,  I  have  tasted  first!" 
Bringing  us  noway  coolness,  but  burning  thirst, 
Giving  us  noway  peace,  but  implacable  strife, 
Loosing  upon  us  the  wounding  joy  and  the  wast 
ing  sorrow  of  life ! . 


132  I  AM  THE  WOMAN 

I  am  the  Woman,  ark  of  the  Law  and  sacred  arm 

to  upbear  it, 
Heathen  trumpet  to  overthrow  and  idolatrous 

sword  to  shear  it : 
Yea,  she  whose  arm  was  round  the  neck  of  the 

morning  star  at  song, 
Is  she  who  kneeleth  now  in  the  dust  and  cries  at 

the  secret  door, 
"Open  to  me,  O  sleeping  mother!    The  gate  is 

heavy  and  strong. 
Open  to  me,  I  am  come  at  last ;  be  wroth  with  thy 

child  no  more. 
Let  me  lie  down  with  thee  there  in  the  dark,  and 

be  slothful  with  thee  as  before!" 


THE   DEATH  OF  EVE 


1  -W-  L 

AT  dawn  they  came  to  the  stream  Hiddekel, 
Old  Eve  and  her  red  first-born,  who  was  now 
Greyer  than  she,  and  bowed  with  more  than  years. 
Then  Cain  beneath  his  level  palm  looked  hard 
Across  the  desert,  and  turned  with  outspread  hand 
As  one  who  says,  "Thou  seest;  we  are  fooled." 
But  Eve,  with  clutching  fingers  on  his  arm, 
And  pointing  eastward  where  the  risen  sun 
Made  a  low  mist  of  light,  said,  "It  is  there!"   0". 

II 

For,  many,  many  months,  in  the  great  tent 
Of  Enoch,  Eve  had  pined,  and  dared  not  tell 

*M  ^     k 

Her  longing:  not  to  Irad,  Enoch's  son, 

Masterful  like  his  father,  who  had  held 

Harsh  rule,  and  named  the  tent-place  with  his 

name; 

Not  to  mild  Seth,  given  her  in  Abel's  stead; 
Not  unto  angry  Lamech,  nor  his  wives, 
Usurjpers  of  her  honor  in  the  house; 


134  THE   DEATH   OF   EVE 

Not  to  young  Jubal,  songs-man  of  the  tribe, 
Who  touched  his  harp  at  twilight  by  her  door; 
And  not  to  bep!-rid  Adam,  most  of  all 
Not  unto  Adam.   Yet  at  last,  the  spring 
Being  at  end,  and  evening  with  warm  stars 
Falling  upon  them  by  the  camel  kraal, 
Weary  with  long  desire  she  spoke  to  Seth, 
Touching  her  meaning  faintly  and  far  off 
To  try  him.   With  still  scrutiny  awhile 
He  looked  at  her;  then,  lifting  doubtful  hands 
Of  prayer,  he  led  her  homeward  to  the  tent, 
With  tremulous  speech  of  small  and  week-day 

things. 

Next,  as  she  lay  by  Adam  before  dawn, 
His  big  and  wasted  hand  groping  for  hers 
Suddenly  made  her  half-awakened  heart 
Break  back  and  back  across  the  shadowy  years 
To  Eden,  and  God  calling  in  the  dew, 
And  all  that  song  of  Paradise  foredone 
Which  Jubal  made  in  secret,  fearing  her 
The  storied  mother;  but  in  secret,  too, 
Herself  had  listened,  while  the  maids  at  toil 
Or  by  the  well^at  evening  sang  of  her 
Untruthful   thyigs,   which,   when  she  once  had 

heard, 


THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  135 

Seemed    truthful.     Now,    bowed    upon    Adam's 

breast, 

In  the  deep  hush  that  comes  before  the  dawn, 
She  whispered  hints  and  fragments  of  her  will ; 
And  when  the  shaggy  forehead  made  no  sign, 
And  the  blind  face  searched  still  as  quietly 
In  the  tent-roof  for  what,  these  many  months, 
It  seemed  to  seek  for  there,  she  held  him  close 
And  poured  her  whole  wild  meaning  in  his  ear. 
But  as  a  man  upon  his  death-bed  dreams 
That  he  should  know  a  matter,  and  knows  it 

not, 

Norjwho  they  are  who  fain  would  have  him  know, 
He  turned  to  hers  his  dim,  disastrous  eyes, 
Wherein  the  knowledge  of  her  and  the  long  love 
Glimmered  through  veil  on  veil  of  vacancy. 
That  evening  little  Jubal,  coming  home 
Singing  behind  his  flock,  saw  ancient  Eve 
Crouched  by  the  ruined  altar  in  the  glade, 
The  accursed  place,  sown  deep  each  early  spring 
With  stones  and  salt  —  the  Valley  of  the  Blood; 
And  that  same  night  Eve  fled  under  the  stars 
Eastward  to  Nod,  the  land  of  violence, 
To  Cain,  and  the  strong  city  he  had  built 
Against  all  men  who  hunted  for  his  soul. 


136  THE   DEATH   OF   EVE 

III 

She  gave  her  message  darkly  in  the  gates, 
And  waited  trembling.   At  day-fall  he  came. 
She  knew  him  not  beneath  his  whitened  hair; 
But  when  at  length  she  knew  him,  and  was  known, 
The  whitened  hair,  the  bent  and  listening  frame, 
The  savage  misery  of  the  sidelong  eyes, 
Fell  on  her  heart  with  strangling.   So  it  was 
That  now  for  many  days  she  held  her  peace, 
Abiding  with  him  till  he  seemed  again 
The  babe  she  bare  first  in  the  wilderness, 
Her  maiden  fruits  to  Adam,  the  new  joy 
The  desert  bloomed  with,  which  the  desert  stars 
Whispered  concerning.  Yet  she  held  her  peace, 
Until  he  seemed  a  young  man  in  the  house, 
A  gold  frontlet  of  pride  and  a  green  cedar; 
Then,  leading  him  apart,  Evejold  her  wish, 
Not  faltering  now  nor  uttering  it  far  off,    .  V>* 
But  as  a  sovereign  mother  to  her  son    (l^ 

— - rr:rrr±±===:   z~^,__^Z — -^^^~-~  "=- 

Speaks  simple  destiny.   He  looked  at  her 
Dimly,  as  if  he  saw  her  not;  then  stooped, 
Sharpening  his  brows  upon  her.   With  a  cry 
She  laid  fierce,  shaken  hands  about  his  breast, 
Drew  down  his  neck,  and  harshly  from  his  brow 
Pushing  the  head-band  and  the  matted  locks, 


THE,  DEATH   OF   EVE  137 

Baring  the  livid  flesh  with.  ..violence, 

She  kissed  him  on  the  Sigrj.   Cain  bowed  his  head 

Upon  her  shoulder,  saying,  "I  will  go!" 


IV 

Now  they  had  come  to  the  stream  Hiddekel,  ^    ? 
And  passed  beyond  the  stream.    There,  full  in 

face, 

Where  the  low  morning  made  a  mist  of  light, 
The  Garden  and  its  gates  lay  like  a  flower! 
Afloat  on  the  still  waters  of  the  dawn. 
The  clicking  leap  of  bright-mailed  grasshoppers, 
The  dropping  of  sage-beetles  from  their  perch 
On  the  gnawed  cactus,  even  the  pulsing  drum 
Of  blood-beats  in  their  ears,  merged  suddenly 
Into  ethereal  hush.  Then  Cain  made  halt, 
Held  her,  and  muttered,  "'Tis  enough.    Thou 

sawest!  A  , 

His  Angel  stood  and  threatened  in  the  sun!" 
And  Eve  said,  "  Yea,jmd  though  the  day  were  set 
With  sworded  angels,  thou  would  'st  wait  for  me 
Yonder,  before  the  gates;  which,  look  you,  child, 
Lie  open  to  me  as  the  gates  to  him, 
Thy  father,  when  Ijg  entered  in  his  rage, 
Calling  thee  from  the  dark,  where  of  old  days 


138  THE   DEATH   OF   EVE 

I  kept  thee  folded,  hidden,  till  he  called." 
So  grey  Cain  by  the  unguarded  portal  sat, 
His  arms  crossed  o'er  his  forehead,  and  his  face 
Hid  in  his  meagre  knees;  but  ancient  Eve 
Passed  on  into  the  vales  of  Paradise. 


v 

'  Tranced  in  lonely  radiance  stood  the 
As  Eve  put  back  the  glimmering  ferns  and  vines 
And  crept  into  the  place.   Awhile  she  stooped, 
And  as  a  wild  thing  by  the  drinking-pool 
Peers  ere  it  drinks,  she  peered.    Then,  laughing 

low, 

Her  frame  of  grief  and  body  of  her  years 
She  lifted  proudly  to  its  virgin  height, 
Flung  her  lean  arms  into  the  pouring  day, 

pAnd  circling  with  slow  paces  round  the  Tree, 
She  sang  her  stifled  meaning  out  to  God. 

EVE'S   SONG 

Behold,  against  thy  will,  against  thy  word, 
Against  the  wrath  and  warning  of  thy  sword, 
Eve  has  been  Eve,  0  Lord! 
A  pitcher  filled,  she  comes  back  from  the  brook, 
A  wain  she  comes,  laden  with  mellow  ears; 


THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  139 

She  is  a  roll  inscribed,  a  prophet's  book 

Writ  strong  with  characters. 

Behold,  Eve  willed  it  so;  look,  if  it  be  so,  look! 

Early  at  dawn,  while  yet  thy  watchers  slept. 

Lightly  her  untamed  spirit  over-leapt 

The  walls  where  she  was  kept. 

As  a  young  comely  leopardess  she  stood: 

Her  lustrous  fell,  her  sullen  grace,  her  fleetness, 

They^gave  her  foretaste,  in  thy  tangled  wood, 

Of  many  a  savage  sweetness, 

Good  to  fore-gloat  upon;  being  tasted,  sweet  and  good. 

0  swayer  in  the  sunlit  tops  of  trees, 
O  comer  up  with  cloud  out  of  the  seas, 
0  laugher  at  thine  ease 
Over  thine  everlasting  dream  of  mirth, 
O^prd  of  savage  pleasures,  savage  pains, 
Knew'st  Thou  not  Eve,  who  broughtest  her  to  birth? 
Searcher  of  breast  and  reins, 
Thou  should' st  have  searched  thy iWoman,  the  seed- 
pod  of  thine  earth! 

Herself  hath  searched  her  softly  through  and  through; 
Singing  she  lifts  her  full  soul  up  to  view; 
Lord,  do  Thou  praise  it,  too! 


140  THE   DEATH   OF   EVE 

Look,  as  she  turns  it,  how  it  dartles  free 
Its  gathered  meanings:  woman,  mother,  wife, 
Spirit  that  was  and  is  and  waits  to  be, 
Worm  of  the  dust  of  life, 

Child,  sister  —  ghostly  rays!  What  lights  are  these, 
Lord,  see! 

Look  where  Eve  lifts  her  storied  soul  on  high, 
And  turns  it  as  a  ball,  she  knows  not  why, 
Save  that  she  could  not  die 
Till  she  had  shown  Thee  all  the  secret  sphere  — 
The  bright  rays  and  the  dim,  and  these  that  run 
Bright-darkling,  making  Thee  to  doubt  and  fear,  — 
Oh,  love  them  every  one! 

Eve  pardons  Thee  not  one,  not  one,  Lord;  dost  Thou 
hear? 

Lovely  to  Eve  was  Adam's  praising  breath; 
His  face  averted  bitter  was  as  death; 
Abel,  her  son,  and  Seth 
Lifted  her  heart  to  heaven,  praising  her; 
Cain  with  a  little  frown  darkened  the  stars; 
And  when  the  strings  of  Jubal's  harp  would  stir, 
Like  honey  in  cool  jars 

The  words  he  praised  her  with,  like  rain  his  praises 
were. 


THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  141 

Still,  still  with  prayer  and  ecstasy  she  strove 
To  be  the  woman  they  did  well  approve, 
That,  narrowed  to  their  love, 
She  might  have  done  with  bitterness  and  blame; 
But  still  along  the  yonder  edge  of  prayer 
A  spirit  in  a  fiery  whirlwind  came  — 
Eve's  spirit,  wild  and  fair  — 
Crying  with  Eve's  own  voice  the  number  of  her 
name. 

Yea,  turning  in  the  whirlwind  and  the  fire, 

Eve  saw  her  own  proud  being  all  entire 

Made  perfect  by  desire; 

And  from  the  rounded  gladness  of  that  sphere 

Came  bridal  songs  and  har  pings  and  fresh  laughter; 

"Glory  unto  the  faithful!"  sounded  clear, 

And  then,  a  little  after, 

"Whoso  denyeth  aught,  let  him  depart  from  here!" 

Now,  therefore,  Eve,  with  mystic  years  o'er-scored, 

Danceth  and  doeth  pleasure  to  Thee,  Lord, 

According  to  the  word 

That  Thou  hast  spoken  to  her  by  her  dream. 

Singing  a  song  she  dimly  understands, 

She  lifts  her  soul  to  let  the  splendor  stream. 


142  THE   DEATH   OF  EVE 

Lord,  take  away  thy  hands! 

Let  this  beam  pierce  thy  heart,  ana  this  most  piercing 
beam  ! 

Far  off,  rebelliously,  yet  for  thy  sake, 

She  gathered  them,  0  Thou  who  lovest  to  break 

A  thousand  souls,  and  shake 

Their  dust  along  the  wind,  but  sleeplessly 

Sear  chest  the  Bride  fulfilled  in  limb  and  feature, 

Ready  and  boon  to  be  fulfilled  of  Thee, 

Thine  ample,  tameless  creature,  - 

Against  thy  will  and  word,  behold,  Lord,  this  is  She! 

VI 

From  carven  plinth  and  thousand-galleried  green 
Cedars,  and  all  close  boughs  that  over-tower, 
The  shadows  lengthened  eastward  from  the  gates, 
And  still  Cain  hid  his  forehead  in  his  knees, 
Nor  dared  to  look  abroad  lest  he  might  find 
More  watchers  in  the  portals :  for  he  heard 
What  seemed  the  rush  of  wings;  from  while  to 

while 

A  pallor  grew  and  faded  in  his  brain, 
As  if  a  great  light  passed  him  near  at  hand. 
But  when  above  the  darkening  desert  swales 


THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  143 

The  moon  came,  shedding  white,  unlikely  day, 
Cain  rose,  and  with  his  back  against  the  stones, 
As  a  keen  fighter  at  the  desperate  odds, 
Glared  round  him.   Cool  and  silent  lay  the  night, 
Empty  of  any  foe.   Then,  as  a  man 
Who  has  a  thing  to  do,  and  makes  his  fear 
An  icy  wind  to  freeze  his  purpose  firm, 
He  stole  in  through  the  pillars  of  the  gate, 
Down  aisles  of  shadow  windowed  with  the  moon, 
By  meads  with  the  still  stars  communicant, 
Past  heaven-bosoming  pool  and  pooled  stream, 
Until  he  saw,  through  tangled  fern  and  vine, 
The  Tree,  where  God  had  made  its  habitation : 
And  crouched  above  the  shape  that  had  been  Eve, 
With  savage,  listening  frame  and  sidelong  eyes, 
Cain  waited  for  the  coming  of  the  dawn. 


THE  THREE  ANGELS 

BEFORE  my  feet  the  curving  strand 
Unblurs  its  outline  from  the  sea, 
And  light  feels  upward  like  a  hand 
To  find  if  yet  creation  be. 
Like  one  whose  eyes  in  fear  are  furled 
It  feels  about  the  pallid  world, 
And  gropes  and  lingers  anxiously. 

And  sure  at  length  that  all  is  good, 

Upon  the  pavement  of  the  deep 

Dawn  walks  with  wings  that  burn  abroad 

And  lifted  hands  that  seem  to  keep 

Attention  till  a  word  be  said ; 

And  now  day  lifts  above  its  head 

A  harp  that  soon  those  hands  will  sweep. 

O  angel  day,  if  thou  wilt  sing 
Look  hither  what  has  fallen  to  us  — 
Me  on  the  bright  beach  wandering 
And  her  within  the  cliff-hung  house ! 
The  word  thou  darest  not  say,  she  says; 


THE  THREE  ANGELS  145 

A  wilder  than  thy  song,  I  raise 
Above  the  passes  perilous. 

Last  night  I  sat  at  her  right  hand : 
Though  Death  upon  the  left  hand  stood, 
Our  hearts  were  ne'er  so  light  and  bland; 
As  in  a  moonlit  summer  wood 
Friend  unto  happy  friend  we  spake, 
As  swan  by  swan  on  a  windless  lake 
We  drifted  down  God's  glassy  flood. 

We  had  been  sweet  friends  long  before, 
But  till  this  evening's  dark  mischance, 
Aye,  never  till  this  deep  death-hour 
Had  such  a  heart  been  ours  to  dance 
Childlike  upon  the  hills  of  glee; 
So  on  those  hills  she  played  with  me, 
Through  swooning  pain  and  ether  trance. 

And  yet  had  not  been  breathed  a  sound 
Of  love,  nor  a  thought  of  love  been  thought. 
With  light  of  light  her  brow  was  wound 
When  mutely  she  made  question,  "What 
Means  this  strange  light  about  your  brow?" 
And  I  made  answer  mute,  "You  know 
It  is  the  love  that  we  have  found." 


146  THE  THREE  ANGELS 

Like  flame  afar  her  life  did  rise 
And  from  the  ends  of  being  came, 
Bare  as  at  birth,  without  disguise, 
To  meet  my  spirit's  naked  flame 
Which  towered  from  out  the  primal  mist 
To  her.  —  Her  lips  lay  all  unkissed; 
We  made  no  sign,  we  named  no  name. 

O  angel  day,  O  seraph  bright! 

As  thou  upon  the  mortal  deep 

We  o'er  these  coasts  of  deathless  light, 

With  lifted  wings  strong  silence  keep. 

Between  the  plumed  and  whispering  fires 

We  raise  on  high  the  golden  lyres 

Which  soon  our  burning  hands  shall  smite ! 


A  PRAIRIE  RIDE 

I 

WHEN  I  look  back  and  say,  of  all  our  hours 
This  one  or  that  was  best, 
Straightway,  from  north  and  south,  from  east  and 

west, 

With  banners  strange  and  tributary  powers 
The  others  camp  against  me.   Thus, 
Now  for  many  nights  and  days, 
The  hills  of  memory  are  mutinous, 
Hearing  me  raise 
Above  all  other  praise 
That  autumn  morn 

When  league  on  league  between  ripe  fields  of  corn, 
Galloping  neck  and  neck  or  loitering  hand  in  hand, 
We  rode  across  the  prairie  land 
Where  I  was  born. 

II 

I  never  knew  how  good 
Were  those  fields  and  happy  farms, 
Till,  leaning  from  her  horse,  she  stretched  her 
arms 


148  A   PRAIRIE   RIDE 

To  greet  and  to  receive  them ;  nor  for  all 

My  knowing,  did  I  know  her  womanhood 

Until  I  saw  the  gesture  understood, 

And  answer  made,  and  amity  begun. 

On  the  proud  fields  and  on  her  proud  bent  head 

The  sunlight  like  a  covenant  did  fall ; 

Then  with  a  gesture  rich  and  liberal 

She  raised  her  hands  with  laughter  to  the  sun,  - 

And  it  was  done, 

Never  in  life  or  death  to  be  gainsaid ! 

And  I,  till  then, 

Home-come  yet  alien, 

Held  by  some  thwart  and  skeptic  mind  aloof 

From  nature's  dear  behoof, 

Knelt  down  in  heart  and  kissed  the  kindly  earth, 

And,  having  swept  on  wings  of  mirth 

The  big  horizon  round,  I  swiftly  clomb, 

And  from  the  utter  dome 

Of  most  high  morning  laughed,  and  sang  my  loved 

one  home! 

Meanwhile,  within  the  rings  our  laughter  made, 
Bending  like  a  water-arum 
Where  impetuous  waters  meet, 
Rhythmic  to  the  strong  alarum, 
Of  her  horse's  rushing  feet, 


A   PRAIRIE   RIDE  149 

Before  me  and  beside  me  and  on  before  me  swayed 

Her  body  like  a  water-arum  blade, 

Like  a  slanted  gull  for  motion, 

And  the  blown  corn  like  an  ocean 

For  its  billows  and  their  rumor,  and  the  tassels 

snapping  free 

As  whittled  foam  and  brine-scud  of  the  sea. 
Thanks  to  God, 

No  ocean,  but  the  rife  and  homely  sod, 
And  golden  corn  to  feed 
A  universe  at  need ! 
Land  of  mine,  my  mother's  country ! 
My  heritage!  —  But  through  her  loosening  hair 
She  has  tossed  me  back  the  dare. 
Drunken-hearted!  shall  it  be  a  race  indeed? 
Then  drink  again,  and  drink  again,  to  reeling 

drink  the  winy  speed! 

Ill 

Ye  on  the  jealous  hills, 
Ye  shall  not  have  your  wills 
For  many  a  dreaming  day 
And  haunted  night. 

To  that  high  morning,  walled  and  domed  with 
light, 


150  A   PRAIRIE   RIDE 

I  am  given  away; 

And  often  here,  above  the  weary  feet 

That  pour  along  this  fierce  and  jaded  street, 

As  from  a  taintless  source 

Of  power  and  grace, 

Anxious  and  shrill  and  sweet 

I  hear  her  strong  unblemished  horse 

Neigh  to  the  pastured  mothers  of  the  race. 


SONG 

MY  love  is  gone  into  the  East 
Across  the  wide  dawn-kindled  sea; 
My  love  remembreth  naught  of  me 
Nor  of  my  lips  nor  of  my  breast, 
For  he  has  gone  where  morning  dwells 
Into  the  land  of  dreams  and  spells. 

But  yet  sometimes  deep  in  the  night 

A  foolish  little  cricket  thing, 

A  kind  of  voice,  will  wake  and  sing 

And  drone  and  sing  till  it  is  light; 

I  am  not  sure,  but  every  day 

I  grow  to  think  he  sings  this  way :  - 

1  Into  the  West,  or  late  or  soon, 
Across  dim  seas  into  the  West, 
Thy  lover  will  sail  back  in  quest 
Of  Earth's  one  gift  and  life's  one  boon, 
Of  simple  love  that  comes  to  pass 
As  dew  falls  or  as  springs  the  grass." 


MUSA   MERETRIX 

I  TURN  the  last  leaf  down,  and  lay 
The  flaunting  rubbish  in  the  grass; 
With  folded  arms  across  my  face 
I  shut  the  summer  light  away. 
On  him  too  the  old  trick  to  play! 
Too  dull,  too  base! 

I  see  again  his  dream-worn  hand 
Shaken  by  my  poor  praise,  his  brow 
Flushed  by  the  words  I  scarce  knew  how 
To  speak  at  all,  so  shadowy  grand 
He  stalked  there  in  Song's  lonely  land, 
Under  the  vow. 

So  rare  a  spirit,  and  if  frail  — 
Curse  thee!  what  should  a  spirit  be 
That  ate  not,  drank  not,  save  for  thee? 
Flat  brothel- jestress,  thing  of  sale, 
On  his  head  too  to  pour  the  stale 
Indignity! 


THE  COUNTING  MAN 

I 

EENY,  meeny,  miney,  mo, 
Cracka  feeny,  finey,  fo; 
Omma  nooja,  oppa  tooja, 
Rick,  bick,  ban,  do! 

II 

Eeny,  meeny,  miney,  mo,  — 
All  the  children  in  a  row. 
Cracka  feeny,  who  is  he, 
Counting  out  so  solemnly? 

Ill 

Eeny,  meeny,  look  how  tall, 
Like  a  shadow  on  the  wall ! 
When  did  he  come  down  the  street, 
Muffled  up  from  head  to  feet? 

IV 

Listen!   Don't  you  hear  the  shiny 
Shadow-man  count  meeny-miney? 
Hush!  when  all  the  counting's  done 
Maybe  I  might  be  The  One! 


154  THE  COUNTING  MAN 

V 

Cracka  feeny,  finey,  fo, 
Watch  his  shining  fingers  go! 
He  can  see  enough  to  play, 
Though  he  hides  his  face  away. 

VI 

Oppa  tooja,  rick,  bick,  ban, 
O  the  solemn  Counting  Man ! 
Forty- 'leven  from  the  top  - 
Now  where  will  his  fingers  stop? 

VII 

Eeny,  meeny,  miney,  mo, 
Cracka  feeny,  finey,  fo; 
Omma  nooja,  oppa  tooja, 
Rick,  bick,  ban,  do! 


THE   MOON-MOTH 

AGAIN  the  steep  path  turns,  and  pained  at  heart 
With  prescience  of  the  beauty  soon  to  be, 
Climbing  I  break  the  flowering  weeds  apart 
And  the  low  vines  that  mat  about  my  knee, 
Till  airy-strong  against  the  sky  and  sea 
Juts  out  the  fragment  of  a  temple's  base 
And  one  great  corner-stone. 
Deep,  deep,  within  me,  in  some  deepest  place 
Of  unknown  being,  laughter  wakes,  and  moans, 
As  on  the  marble  ledge  I  lay  my  face, 
Bowed  down  with  thoughts  of  Her  who  had  this 
house  and  throne. 

Above  the  market  and  the  popular  well 

Within  whose  carven  niche  the  old  men  sat 

To  murmur  at  Medea,  and  to  tell 

Haw  her  witch-love  for  Jason  turned  to  hate, 

High  o'er  the  struggles  old  men  wonder  at, 

High  in  the  delicate  heavens,  beheld  of  none 

Save  who  should  climb  above 

Yonder  hill-fountain  where  Bellerophon 


156  THE   MOON-MOTH 

Snared  the  winged  horse  and  backed  him  in  the 

moon,  - 

Corinth  the  city  raised  up  unto  Love 
This   specular   temple   pure   and   its   far-gazing 

grove; 

That  in  the  intense  zenith  laughing  free, 
Making  inviolable  light  its  screen, 
Passion  might  know  a  wilder  secrecy, 
To  an  abandonment  more  wounding  lean, 
More  richly  healing  of  a  hurt  more  keen; 
That,  high  in  prospect  of  all  Hellene  story, 
Love,  which  will  gather  power 
From  all  it  sees  of  beauty  and  of  glory, 
And  on  the  top  of  every  lifted  hour 
Stand  singing  of  itself  as  from  a  tower, 
Might  stand  and  sing  at  ease  from  this  bright 
promontory. 

Temple  and  grove  are  gone;  the  summit  lies 
Bare  to  the  feet  of  the  fantastic  year. 
Weeds  of  strange  flower,  and  moths  of  many  dyes, 
Creepers  and  flyers  small,  that,  watched  anear, 
Are  as  outlandish  gods  and  things  of  fear 
Seen  at  their  amorous  revels  and  their  wars  — 


THE  MOON-MOTH  157 

These  only  keep  the  height, 
These  and  the  jeweled  air  that  laps  and  jars 
In  tide  and  gulf-stream  of  ecstatic  light, 
Through  pale  gold  deeps,  whereof  no  ripple  mars 
Outspreaded  Greece  flame-pale  and  more  than 
earthly  bright. 

Those  faint  vermilion  hills  that  southward  peer 
Look  over  into  Clytemnestra's  land, 
As  if  each  crouching  summit  leaned  to  hear 
White-lipped  Cassandra,  by  Apollo  banned 
To  drink  with  cries  of  loathing  from  his  hand 
Her  horrid  vision  of  the  house  of  sin ; 
Those  heights  of  flame  and  dew, 
Gleaming  far  westward,  lock  Arcadia  in; 
And  where  the  olive-mottled  gulf  burns  blue, 
The  Muses'  mount,  with  silver  summits  twin, 
Shines  o'er  the  violet  steep  that  Delphi  clings 
unto. 

Yonder  a  name,  yonder  a  name,  and  yonder 
A  name  to  make  the  troubled  blood  beat  fast 
And  the  o'ertaken  spirit  ache  with  wonder: 
Daphne,   whose   slope   the   spring-time   revelers 
passed, 


158  THE   MOON-MOTH 

With  Eleusinian  Demeter  to  taste 

The  bread  of  resurrection;  Sunion, 

Glad  shrine  and  pharos  glad; 

Hymettos  and  grape-dark  Pentelicon; 

And  bright,  O  bright  against  their  bronzen  shade, 

Athens,  by  time  and  ruin  undismayed, 

Lifting  her  solemn  crown  of  temples  to  the  sun. 

Mountains  and  seas,  cities  and  isles  and  capes, 
All  frail  as  dream  and  painted  like  a  dream, 
All  swimming  with  the  fairy  light  that  drapes 
A  bubble,  when  the  colors  curl  and  stream 
And  meet  and  flee  asunder.    I  could  deem 
This  earth,  this  air,  my  dizzy  soul,  the  sky, 
Time,  knowledge,  and  the  gods 
Were  lapsing,  curling,  streaming  lazily 
Down  a  great  bubble's  rondure,  dye  on  dye, 
To  swell  the  perilous  clinging  drop  that  nods, 
Gathers,  and  nods,  and  clings,  through  all  eternity. 

We  cry  with  drowsy  lips  how  life  is  strange, 
.  And  shadowy  hands  pour  for  us  while  we  speak 
Old  bowls  of  slumber,  that  the  stars  may  range 
And   the  gods  walk  unhowled-at.  ...  To  my 
cheek 


THE   MOON-MOTH  159 

This  stone  feels  blessed  cool.    My  heart  could 

break 

Of  its  long  searching  and  its  finding  not, 
But  that  it  has  forgot 

What 't  was  it  searched,  and  how  it  failed  thereof. 
-  O  soft,  ye  flute-players !   No  temple  dove 
Be  fluttered !   Soft,  sing  soft,  ye  lyric  girls, 
Till  the  shrine  portals  ope  and  the  blue  smoke 

outcurls ! 

Dance  slowly,  singing  as  if  Pindar  heard 
And  loved  again  this  sweet  fruit  of  his  breast. 
O  let  the  strophe,  like  a  smooth  sea-bird, 
Drift  down  the  wave,  and  wheel  again  to  rest 
One  long,  long  instant  on  the  glittering  crest. 
Scare  not  the  sacred  peacock  where  he  spreads 
His  fan  upon  the  wall; 
Let  not  a  flower,  let  not  a  petal  fall 
From  those  fresh-woven  garlands  on  your  heads; 
Dance  delicately  slow  as 'yon  light  treads 
From  isle  to  isle:  though  late,  love  comes  at  last 
to  all! 

And  might  it  not  be  sweeter  late  than  soon? 
What  though  the  western  radiance  flame  and  fail  ? 


1 6o  THE   MOON-MOTH 

What  though  the  ivory  circle  of  the  moon 
Deepen  to  gold?    What  though  the  keen  stars 

tell 
Through   Heaven's  abysm  their  midnight  and 

all  V well, 

And  still  not  yet  the  jealous  doors  unclose? 
Despair  not;  these  delays 
We  know  are  Paphian,  and  the  waked  thrush 

knows 
Who  from  the  grove  chants  love's  heart-broken 

praise. 

"Too  late,  too  soon!  Too  soon,  too  late!"  he  says, 
"O  goddess,  hear  them  now,  before  the  sweet 

night  goes!" 

Aye,  deeply  heard !    In  Aphrodite's  porch 
Perfect  of  her  the  slumbering  lovers  He, 
And  on  the  shrine  steps  where  her  saffron  torch, 
Lights  their  young  bosoms  when  they  turn  and 

sigh, 

And  in  the  moonlit  grove,  and  round  the  high 
Plinth,  where  her  fiery  urns  purpureal 
Signal  her  native  deep; 
To  these  she  giveth  all  things,  even  sleep. 
But,  rich,  rich  giver,  hast  thou  given  all? 


THE   MOON-MOTH  161 

Dost  thou  not  some  diviner  secret  keep 
For  me,  though  outland,  though  half-atheist  in 
thy  hall? 

—  Shattered !     And  I  awake.     The  prayer  was 

rash. 

Daylight  is  hardly  touched  with  failure  yet, 
Though  there  a  glowing  headland  drops  to  ash 
And  there  a  chanting  island  will  forget 
Its  glory  soon.   The  stones  with  dew  are  wet. 
The  moon  sings  up  the  world  —  or  in  my  blood 
Climbs  it,  the  choiring  peace? 
What  have  I  done,  what  suffered  or  withstood, 
That  all  within  me  is  so  bright  and  good? 

—  Look,  lo,  the  rainbow-colored  pinions  please 
To  settle!  A  moon-moth,  by  all  my  dreams  it  is! 

Rich  as  a  pulse  a  worshiped  head  rests  on, 

The  glimmering  vans  that  time  the  trembling  life 

Open  and  close  above  the  moon-washed  stone, 

As  if  the  fairy  heart  were  fugitive, 

As  if  it  halted  panting  from  a  strife 

Too  large  for  its  frail  day.    O  missionary 

Winds  of  the  far  and  dear! 

O  elfin  ship,  why  flap  your  gallants  there? 


162  THE   MOON-MOTH 

My  heart  has  many  a  brimming  estuary 
Where  you  can  ease  you  from  the  endless  air, 
The  ocean  light  you  sailed  to  bring  me  news  of 
her! 

Our  souls  had  risen  from  their  second  birth, 

And  were  at  peace  within  the  land  thereof; 

With  tears  we  trod  there,  and  with  careless  mirth : 

And  sometimes  on  the  bosom  of  my  love, 

Or  on  her  lips  or  brow,  or  poised  above 

All  palpitant  and  doubtful  on  her  head, 

A  soft-winged  splendor  lit; 

And  I  would  say,  "The  Butterfly!"  and  sit 

Loving  it  till  it  went.   And  once  I  said 

"Hush,  the  Moon-Moth ! "  That  evening  we  were 

wed 
Anew,  and  we  were  glad  as  the  uprisen  dead. 

And  now,  what  gladness  ails  thee  now,  my  soul? 
For  all  the  desolate,  all  the  wasted  days 
Nothing  but  strong  delight?   The  lifted  bowl, 
The  cones  of  ecstasy,  the  wands  of  praise, 
Tossing  delirious  dow^n  the  mountain  ways 
Of  all  that's  forfeit,  all  that  is  foregone? 
Triumphing  through  the  seas, 


THE  MOON-MOTH  163 

And  past  the  ghostly  power  that,  leagued  with  these, 
Did  make  as  if  the  bolts  of  God  were  drawn 
Between  her  life  and  me?   And  like  a  fawn 
Thou  'It  dance  there  in  the  moon,  where  now  the 
moon-moth  flees? 

But  whither,  flame  of  pearl,  vapor  of  pearl, 
Breath  and  decantment  of  sea-buried  gems 
That  with  the  foam-born  Woman  did  upswirl 
To  wreathe  their  brightness  round  her  breast  and 

limbs 

And  give  their  color  to  the  cup  that  dims 
Earth's  piercing  cry  to  music,  —  whither  now 
Do  the  weighed  wings  intend? 
Fawn  heart  of  me,  that  with  the  upflung  brow 
Followest  on,  where  will  thy  dances  end? 
O  after  many  days!   O  let  me  bow, 
Let  me  be  risen  lordly  up !    My  love,  my  friend, 

My  wild  one,  my  soul's  need,  my  song  of  life! 
Through  the  strange  seas  and  past  the  ghostly 

powers 

Safe  come  and  sure,  and  like  a  festal  wife, 
Admonished  of  the  seasons  and  the  hours,' 
The  time  of  times  and  the  prepared  bowers! 


i64  THE   MOON-MOTH 

Above  thy  brow  floats  like  an  influence 

The  moon-moth,  our  dear  sign, 

No  plainer  now  than  when  these  eyes  of  mine 

In  faith  imagined  and  beheld  it  once, 

As  these  thy  hands  to  all  my  thirsting  sense, 

To  lips  and  breast  and  brow,  are  palpable  as  then. 

More  palpable,  by  that  dark  curtain  wove 
And  hung  between  us  for  Earth's  lie  of  lies! 
Which  these  our  meeting  hands  make  nothing  of 
And  this  thy  happy  bending-down  denies, 
And  these  our  clinging  lips  and  closed  eyes 
And  mating  breasts  have  never,  never  known 
But  for  the  cheat  it  was. 

-  Sigh  not,  love ;  tremble  not !   Be  all  at  peace ! 
You  will  not  go  because  the  moth  is  flown? 

-Gone,    beyond    passion's    cry!  —  The    moon- 
washed  stone, 

The  sleeping  weeds,  the  stars  few  over  dreaming 
Greece. 

And  my  far  country  swims  into  the  light. 
The  seaboard  states  are  up,  the  prairies  stay 
But  little  longer  now  to  make  them  bright. 
Westward  the  burning  bugles  of  the  day 


THE   MOON-MOTH  165 

Are  blowing  strong  across  America. 

New  laws,  new  arts,  new  gods,  new  souls  of  men, 

New  hopes  and  charities! 

Why  do  I  traffic  where  no  profit  is, 

Taking  but  one  or  two  where  they  take  ten 

Who  trade  to  their  own  shores,  and  back  again 

To  their  own  shores?  O  my  beloved !  Who  replies 

But  thou,  fled  heart,  who  cling'st  here  close  and 

true! 

For  us  the  future  was,  the  past  will  be, 
And  all  the  holy  human  years  are  new, 
And  all  are  tasted  of  eternally, 
And  still  the  eaten  fruit  shines  on  the  tree, 
—  Let  us  go  down.   There,  in  that  naked  glen, 
Bellerophon  played  the  thief. 
Much  lower  lies  the  well  where  the  old  men 
Sat  murmuring  at  Medea,  and  at  their  chief 
Spoused  to  the  witch.     Love,  we'll  not  grieve 

again, 
We  ne'er  shall  grieve  again,  not  what  we  could 

call  grief! 


THE  FOUNTAIN 

ANOTHER  evening  falls,  another  leaf 
Drops  from  the  withered  bough.   Here  let  us  rest 
Till  dawn,  if  still  another  dawn  be  ours, 
And  these  be  not  the  limits  of  our  hopes. 
This  desert  starlight  seems  to  shale  away 
The  crus.t  and  rind  of  our  disfigurement, 
And  I  can  see  us  on  the  palm-fringed  shore, 
Young,  in  a  land  of  virgin  miracle. 
With  laughter  and  light  words  we  burnt  the  ships, 
And  waited  while  the  morning  jewel-pure 
Between  the  flaming  zenith  and  the  sea 
Drank  up  the  smoke,  and  left  all  crystalline. 
Then,  after  prayer  and  planting  of  the  cross, 
Our  captain  rose,  and  o'er  us  where  we  kneeled 
Let  stream  the  ensign  of  our  strange  attempt. 
With  shout  and  song  we  took  the  wilderness, 
Light  song  which  in  the  arrogance  of  joy 
Mocked  all  the  shadowy  issues  of  our  seacch. 

-  Wondrously  near  those  first  days  rise  to-night 
Bright-pictured  to  the  visionary  sense, 
And  like  a  stepping  music,  full  of  gust 


THE   FOUNTAIN  167 

And  savorous  to  the  marrow  of  the  tune. 
But  dim  and  without  sound,  a  realm  inert, 
Lie  the  long  stretches  of  our  after- toil. 
You  know  how  hunger,  accident,  disease, 
Ambush  and  open  battle  wore  us  down, 
How  schism  split  us,  envious  leadership 
Ditched  into  rivulets  of  little  head 
The  stream  and  onset  of  our  expedition; 
How  some  for  love  of  women,vsome  for  sloth, 
Some  for  a  taint  of  wildness  in  the  blood, 
Some  brain-sick,  or  with  dreams  of  savage  rule, 
Fell  off  from  us  and  mingled  with  the  tribes. 
You  know  how,  when  the  knighthood  we  were  of 
Was  broken,  when  despair  was  in  the  ranks, 
And  the  main  voice  was  loud  for  turning  back, 
This  handful,  heroes  of  a  dwindling  hope, 
Bade  deep  farewell,  and  set  our  faces  on. 
Long,  long  ago  the  others  found  their  kin, 
Wept  in  the  shrunken  bosoms  of  their  wives, 
And  leaned  their  weight  of  weakness  on  their 

sons, 

Or  else,  not  fortunate,  sank  by  the  way, 
With  eyes  turned  homeward,  and  delirious  hands 
Held  up  through  the  death-mist  to  signal  Spain. 
But  we,  who  now  out-tarry  our  own  selves, 


1 68  THE   FOUNTAIN 

Who  are  as  our  own  spectres  haunting  us, 
Many  a  dim  immemorable  year 
We  grope  about,  at  hazard  of  our  clue; 
Again  and  yet  again  the  thin  thread  snaps, 
The  half-heard  rumor  dies  upon  the  air; 
Then  sit  we  drowsed,  forgetting  what  we  seek, 
Again  remembering  only  to  forget, 
Till,  in  some  wakeful  moment  such  as  this, 
Or  such  as  come  under  the  struggling  dawn, 
When  earth  is  taken  with  anxiety, 
And  till  the  crisis  all  the  gates  of  life 
Swing  wide,  and  there  is  access  everywhere 
And  mighty  recognitions,  then  once  more  - 
I  know  not  how  ye  others  keep  the  quest, 
I  know  not  on  what  root  of  hope  ye  feed, 
But  as  for  me,  the  voices  that  I  hear, 
The  beckoning  hands  I  follow,  are  of  them 
Whom  you  reject  as  false  and  lying  guides. 
Again  I  see  that  dark-eyed  leaf-crowned  boy, 
That  tawny  budding  girl,  earnest  and  vague, 
Who  took  our  meaning  with  soft-brightening  gaze, 
And  beckoning  slipped  before  us  through  the  wild ; 
And  like  a  fountain  on  the  hills  of  dream 
Wells  the  clear  music  of  their  mated  throats, 
Now  rising  from  the  maiden's  single  heart, 


THE  FOUNTAIN  169 

Now  from  the  youth's,  rejoicing  far  away, 
But  ever  wedded  in  the  secret  depths 
And  raining  up  inextricable  song. 

"Hasten,  hasten,  turn  and  twine 
Body  mine,  spirit  mine, 
Spells  behind  me, 
Lest  he  follow  me  and  find  me! 
Never  stay,  but  as  we  may 
Fleeing,  fleeing,  bar  the  way; 
To  my  love's  delicious  moan 
Make  the  air  no  thoroughfare, 
Lock  the  light  to  stone! 
By  the  heavenly  pool  to-day, 
Body  mine,  spirit  mine, 
We  must  bathe,  we  must  play 
Alone,  alone!11 

"I  knew  not  when  I  rose  from  thee, 
I  only  knew 

That  on  from  tree  to  dreaming  tree 
All  the  wet,  dark  forest  through 
I  touched  and  traced  the  fairy  clew. 
Upland  silences  unstirred 
By  wind  of  dawn 


170  THE   FOUNTAIN 

Or  wakeful  bird. 
With  signals  wan  and  unaverred 
Led  me,  lured  me,  lulled  me  on. 
To  where  a  brook  or  little  river 
Bubbled  from  a  Source  divine  — 
0,  by  many  a  mighty  sign 
Sealed  and  set  apart  forever 
Mine,  mine!" 

Again  I  listened  to  that  married  pair, 
Who  laid  their  hands  upon  the  giant  trees, 
Saying,  "When  these  were  seedlings,  we  were  far 
Gone  in  the  wonder  and  the  peace  of  love,'* 
Yet  seemed  young  as  the  bloom  they  led  us  through. 
And  I  can  hear  again  the  husband's  song 
At  which  the  woman  clung  to  him  and  wept, 
And  after  seemed  more  blessed  than  before. 

"Dost  thou  fear,  my  bride,  to  dwell 
Longer  near  the  wondrous  well, 
Where  we,  careless  leaning, 
Drank  and  were  glorified? 
Stirs  and  flutters  in  thy  side, 
Love,  the  sweet  meaning 
Why  we  abide, 


THE  FOUNTAIN  171 

Here  where  the  waters  flow 

Till  the  heart-prophecied  hour! 

When  with  tears  of  weakness,  songs  of  power. 

We  have  knelt  the  stream  beside, 

And  poured  the  chrysm  wild 

Over  our  deathless  child, 

Then  we  will  go  — 

0  whither,  whither,  love,  seeking  our  child  that  died!  " 

Yea,  yea,  I  know  to  what  unlikely  springs, 

To   what   mere    household   wells   and   neighbor 

brooks 

Some  led  us,  saying,  "Here  by  chance  we  drank 
And  suffered  the  bright  change;  stoop  ye  and 

drink!" 

Also  I  know  how  others  stood  at  loss, 
Saying,  "'T  was  here,  't  was  such  a  place  as  this; 
But  nowhere  wells  the  water.    Blame  us  not! 
Perhaps  it  has  its  seasons!"   Seasons  four 
We  waited  once,  and  when  the  fourth  was  run 
We  put  our  guide  to  death  —  unrighteously ! 
For  look  you,  but  a  little  after  that, 
Upon  the  monstrous  borders  of  this  place, 
We  met  the  ancient  comrades  of  our  quest. 
A  lifetime  since,  they  fell  away  from  us 


172  THE  FOUNTAIN 

And  mingled  with  the  tribes.   Nine  souls  we  met, 
Seven  thereof  as  old  and  worn  as  we, 
And  with  them  women-kind  more  broken  still ; 
But  two  were  more  divine  uplifted  men 
Than  when  we  knelt  beside  the  burning  ships. 
You  know  how,  at  our  question,  one  spake  naught, 
But  wept,  and  gave  us  mutely  of  his  store, 
Filling  our  hands  with  precious  necessaries; 
The  other,  from  our  vasty  mountain  shelf, 
Pointed  far  westward  over  silver  peaks. 
Then  she  who  went  beside  him  as  his  bride 
Smiled  and  said  Nay  to  the  uplifted  arm; 
Yet  followed  where  he  led  us.  Twelve  days  march 
By  west  and  north  we  journeyed,  through  a  world 
Gigantic  and  phantasmal,  as  if  flung 
In  terror  of  their  fancy  from  the  hands 
Of  rude  and  early  gods.   And  as  we  went, 
Ever  before  us  that  bright  woman  sang 
Many  a  bright,  disturbing  song,  whereof 
One  was  the  strangest  among  many  strange. 

"/  saw  a  thousand  gates  unclose, 
A  risen  woman  in  each  gate; 
Each  woman  cried,  '  For  thee  I  rose: 
Waitest  thou?   I  can  wait! ' 


THE   FOUNTAIN  173 

"/  scared  the  stars  above  the  sun, 
I  shook  the  old  roots  of  the  sea, 
The  anchored  continents  did  shun 
My  importunity. 

"I  cried,  '/  will  not  suffer  death, 
Nor  shameful  age,  the  death  in  life! 
What  from  our  love  God  hidden  hath 
Be  wrung  from  Him  with  strife! ' 

"  In  faintness  once  again  I  lay, 
And  saw  those  gates  unclose  about  me, 
I  heard  the  thousand  women  say 

'How  long,  then,  wilt  thou  doubt  me? 

"  '  For  thee,  I  rose,  for  thee  I  wait 
Who  am  thyself,  long,  long  uprisen; 
Come  to  the*Fountain;  it  is  late; 
And  darker  grows  thy  prison!1 

11  All  mutinous  thoughts  away  I  flung,          % 
And  I,  a  risen  woman,  trod 
Those  liberties  where  gushed  and  sung 
The  living  wells  of  God" 

So,  for  twelve  days,  her  singing  led  us  on : 
The  twelfth  day,  in  the  fading  light,  we  came 


174  THE   FOUNTAIN 

Into  a  region  where  the  laboring  earth 
Spouted  whale-like  her  fountains,  icy  some 
And  clear  as  ice,  some  boiling  sulphurous. 
Then,  by  the  master-water  in  the  midst, 
He  who  far  off  had  pointed  out  the  land 
Halted  us,  saying,  "Here  I  drank;  drink  ye!" 
And  when  we  drank  and  found  no  virtue  in  it, 
He  muttered,  "Even  as  the  other  seven!" 
And  beckoning  his  bright  woman,  slipped  away. 
But  he,  our  other  comrade,  who  had  wept 
To  see  us,  and  had  followed  without  speech, 
Broke  silence  then,  and  as  the  mountain  dusk 
Shut  over  them,  we  heard  his  lessening  song 
Mix  with  the  pouring  \vaters  and  the  wind. 

"Not  with  searching,  not  with  strife, 
Not  by  traveler's  true  repbrting, 
Nor  by  signs  of  old  importing, 
Win  ye  to  the  Fount  of  Life. 
But  as  the  husband  to  the  wife 
At  evening  thoughtless  goes, 
And  lo,  about  her  careless  head 
Twines  terror  like  a  flashing  knife, 
Breathes  wonder  like  a  climbing  rose, 
And  dreams  wherewith  his  youth  was  rife, 


THE   FOUNTAIN  175 

The  sorrowed-for,  the  long-since  dead, 
He  finds  up-gathered  in  her  eyes 
Beyond  belief,  beyond  surprise  — 
So  shall  ye  find,  not  otherwise  ! 
For  ere  with  striving  you  are  come 
The  fountain's  singing  heart  is  dumb, 
Faded  its  spell; 

And  down  the  world  at  random  hurled 
By  conduits  and  thwart  under  sir  earns. 
The  secret  waters  of  the  well  *— 
Where  the  thirsty  millions  dwell 
Or  'neath  unvisited  moonbeams  — 
Renew  their  miracle!" 

To-morrow  morn,  yet  fewer  than  to-night, 
We  will  go  on,  leaving  the  fallen  head. 
These  peaceful  desert  men  will  give  it  honor. 
From  moon  to  moon  they  hold  us  more  in  awe, 
And  as  they  deal  with  their  outlying  gods,  - 
Them  of  the  farther  fields  and  water-holes, 
Too  shy  to  climb  into  their  rock-perched  towns 
So  do  they  unto  us,  in  lonely  places 
Setting  us  sacred  food,  honey  and  maize, 
Sun-baken  fruits  and  sacrificial  bread. 
I  think  there  have  been  battles  waged  for  us, 


176  THE   FOUNTAIN 

And  vigil  set  in  all  their  eagle- towers; 
I  think  their  priests  come  with  us  afar  off, 
Staying  when  we  stay,  moving  when  we  move : 
Either  't  is  so,  or  't  is  a  thing  I  dream. 

Though  order  and  the  comeliness  of  truth 
No  more  reign  constant  in  the  spirit's  house, 
Though  far  and  near  shift  places,  and  our  sleep 
Tangles  itself  with  what  we  are  awake, 
Yet,  O  worn  Brothers,  much-enduring  men, 
Without  search,  without  striving,  go  we  on, 
For  I  am  told  at  heart  that  we  shall  find !  .  .  . 
Perhaps  within  the  pictured  water-jars 
They  fill  and  place  for  us  along  our  path ; 
Perhaps  in  stooping  where  the  wild  and  tame 
Fight  for  the  thread  of  moisture  in  the  rocks; 
Perhaps  as  ghosts  beside  the  ghostly  lakes 
Which  noonday  paints  upon  the  distant  sand; 
Perhaps  far  sunken  by  a  canyon  pool, 
Under  the  soft  rein  of  a  cataract 
Which    leaps   and   scatters   down    the   walls   of 
Death. 


THAMMUZ 

DAUGHTERS,  daughters,  do  ye  grieve? 
Crimson  dark  the  freshes  flow ! 
Were  ye  violent  at  eve? 
Crimson  stains  where  the  rushes  grow! 
What  is  this  that  I  must  know? 

Mourners  by  the  dark  red  waters, 
Met  ye  Thammuz  at  his  play? 
Was  your  mood  upon  you,  daughters? 
Had  ye  drunken?   O  how  grey 
Looks  your  hair  in  the  rising  day! 

Mourners,  mourn  not  overmuch 
That  ye  slew  your  lovely  one. 
Such  ye  are;  and  be  ye  such! 
Lift  your  heads;  the  waters  run 
Ruby  bright  in  the  climbing  sun. 

Raven  hair  and  hair  of  gold, 
Look  who  bendeth  over  you ! 
This  is  not  the  shepherd  old; 
This  is  Thammuz,  whom  ye  slew, 
Radiant  Thammuz,  risen  anew ! 


POETIC    DRAMAS 


THE    FIRE-BRINGER 

And  when  Zeus  determined  to  destroy  the  men  of 
the  brazen  age,  Deukalion,  being  forewarned  by  Pro 
metheus,  built  a  boat,  and  putting  into  it  food  and 
drink,  embarked  with  Pyrrha.  Zeus  sent  a  great  rain 
from  heaven ,  so  that  all  men  were  overwhelmed,  except 
a  few  who  Jled  to  the  high  places.  Deukalion  was 
driven  upon  the  darkness  of  the  waters  until  he  came 
to  Parnassus  ;  and  there,  when  the  rains  had  abated, 
he  landed  and  made  sacrifice,  praying  for  men  to  re- 
people  the  earth.  Then  Deukalion  and  Pyrrha  took 
stones,  and  threw  them  over  their  heads  ;  those  which 
Deukalion  threw  became  men,  and  those  which  Pyrrha 
threw  became  women.  .  .  .  Also  Prometheus  gave  to 
them  fire,  bringing  it  secretly  in  a  fennel  stalk.  When 
Zeus  learned  of  this,  he  commanded  Heph<zstos  to  bind 
the  body  of  Prometheus  upon  Mount  Caucasus  ;  and 
for  the  theft  of  fire  Prometheus  suffered  this  punish 
ment.  —  APOLLODORUS. 


The  Fire-Bringer  is  intended  as  the  first  member 
of  a  trilogy  on  the  Promethean  theme,  of  which  The 
Masque  of  Judgment  is  the  second  member ;  but  the 
connection  between  the  present  poem  and  the  one 
which  follows  it  in  the  dramatic  sequence  is  infor 
mal,  and  the  action  of  each  is  complete  in  itself. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS 

PROMETHEUS 

PANDORA 

DEUKALION 

PYRRHA 


LYKOPHON 

ALCYONE 

RHODOPE 

THE  STONE  MEN 

THE  EARTH  WOMEN 

A  PRIEST  OF  ZEUS 

Various  persons,  survivors  of  Deukaliori  s  flood. 


THE  FIRE-BRINGER 

ACT    I 

Darkness  covers  the  scene.  Faintly  discernible ;  a  moun 
tain  slope,  backed  by  low  cliffs,  and  beyond  these 
the  upper  stretches  of  the  mountain.  In  the  cliffs  a 
small  cave,  and  before  the  mouth  of  the  cave  a  rude 
altar  of  earth.  Deukalion  and  Pyrrha  are  seated 
against  the  cliff ;  j&Lolus  lies  on  his  face  at  their 
feet. 

DEUKALION. 

Thou  hast  slept  long. 

PYRRHA. 

I  saw  a  burning  lamp 

That  passed  between  the  levret  and  the  dove 
On  Zeus's  altar,  and  a  smoke  went  up. 

DEUKALION. 

Dreams:  we  are  old.  The  green  heart  and  the  sear 
He  feeds  with  dreams ;  having  some  purpose  in  it, 
Or  else  His  idleness. 

PYRRHA. 

No  lamp  was  here? 
No  fire,  no  light? 


1 84  THE  FIRE-BRINGER          [ACT  I 

• 

DEUKALION. 

Some  fire-spa: -ks  in  the  eyes 
Of  dull  bewildered  beasts  that  rame  to  gaze, 
And  dully  moved  again  into  the  mist. 
They  have  forgot  their  natures,  even  as  we, 
And  those  who  tremble  yonaer  on  the  heights 
For  fear  the  ebbing  deep  should  mount  again, 
Breathing  this  darkness  have  forgot  ourselves, 
Our  natures,  and  the  motions  of  our  souls. 

PYRRHA. 

Was  not  the  Titan  here?   Seemed  as  he  stood, 
Behind  him  dawn,  and  in  his  lifted  hand  — 

DEUKALION. 
He  came,  in  darkness. 

PYRRHA. 

What  word  should  he  bring? 

DEUKALION. 
I  feigned  to  sleep.    I  had  no  heart  for  speech. 

PYRRHA. 
What  did  he,  being  with  us? 

DEUKALION. 

Stood  awhile 
Watching  thy  slumber;  touched  the  sleeping  head 


ACT  I]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  185 

Of  ^Eolus ;  gazed  upward  to  the  heights ; 
Then  vanished  down  the  slope :  and  far  below 
Pandora  sang. 

PYRRHA. 
Again?  — 

DEUKALION. 

I  say  below 

I  heard  her  once,  and  once  upon  the  peaks. 
A  little  after,  thunder  tore  the  sky, 
And  't  was  as  if,  far  off,  unearthly  steeds 
And  cloudy  chariots  plunged  across  the  dark. 
Hush  fell;  and,  wailing  like  a  broken  bird, 
I  heard  her  dropping  down  from  rock  to  rock. 
Then  for  an  endless  season  sat  she  here, 
Her  head  between  her  knees,  and  all  her  hair 
Spread  like  a  night-pool  in  the  autumn  woods. 
Pause. 

PYRRHA. 

Since  the  loosed  raven  flew,  nor  came  again, 
And  since  the  black  wind  ceasing  cast  us  here, 
How  long  should  the  time  be? 

DEUKALION. 

A  week,  a  month, 
Measureless  years,  some  moments.   Time  is  dead, 


i86  THE   FIRE-BRINGER          [ACT  I 

Drowned  in  the  waste  of  waters;  or  it  lies 
Somewhere  abolished  in  the  primal  mud, 
Caught  in  the  rings  of  Python,  whom  at  dusk 
Of  that  last  day,  peering  in  terror  forth 
Before  we  shut  the  windows  of  our  boat, 
We  heard   hiss  from   the  north  and   from   the 

south, 

And  from  the  east  and  west,  and  saw  him  lay 
His  circles  round  the  frothy  rim  of  the  world ; 
Or  fled  above  the  dark,  Time  softly  there 
Laughs  through  the  abyss  of  radiance  with  the 

gods. 

PYRRHA. 
Think'st  thou  the  gods  laugh,  now  the  colored 

world 

They  sought  to  when  the  spring  was  on  the  hills, 
And  had  their  stolen  loves  here,  lies  snuffed  out, 
A  reeking  lamp? 

DEUKALION.  w 

Also  therefore  they  laugh: 

And  therefore  also  do  we  bow  us  down 

In  fear  and  worship. 

PYRRHA. 
Aye,  so.  —  What  sayest  thou? 


ACT  I]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  187 

DEUKALION. 

I  say  supernal  laughter  and  smooth  days 
Fill  up  Heaven's  golden  room !   For  that  the  earth 
Hath  her  dim  sorrow  and  her  shrouded  face, 
Should  the  gods  grieve? 

PYRRHA. 

Husband,  these  breasts  are  dry 
That  fed  our  many  sons;  that  head  of  thine 
Is  hoar  with  majesty  of  years  and  rule; 
Much  have  I  learned  of  thee  and  stored  at  heart 
Concerning  gods  and  men,  the  elder  age 
Of  golden  peace,  the  silver  time  between, 
When  lust  and  strife  began  to  gnaw  the  world, 
And  these  wild  latter  days.    In  the  ark  also, 
Crouching  in  darkness,  and  upon  this  mount 
Of  weary  darkness,  hast  thou  held  a  torch 
To  light  my  mind  to  patience  of  these  woes 
Through  understanding.    Yet,  behold,  O  king, 
I  understand  not!   Wherefore  hath  great  Zeus, 
Thy  likeness  in  the  heavens,  bound  like  thee 
To  shepherd  his  wide  people,  sentTnsTToods 
To  whelm  them  up,  shut  from  the  remnant  clans 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars;  andjfor  a  final  curse 
Drawn  from  the  flints  and  dry  boughs  of  the  pine 


188  THE   FIRE-BRINGER          [ACT  I 

The  seed  of  divine  fire,  —  yea,  from  our  blood, 
Yea,  from  the  secret  "places  of  our  frames 
Sucked  up  the  fire  of  passion  and  of  will, 
And  left  us  here  by  the  desolate  black  ebb 
To  rot  and  crumble  with  the  crumbling  world? 
Wherefore  is  this,  O  king? 

DEUKALION. 

Thyself  hast  said. 

PYRRHA. 

Yet  know  not.  —  Heavy  of  thought!    Make  me 
to  know. 

DEUKALION. 

Because  these  latter  days  are  full  of  pride 
And  lust  and  wrangling;  because  his  skies  were 

vexed 

With  the  might  of  rearing  horses,  and  the  wheels 
Of  chariots,  and  the  young  men  blowing  horns 
Against  his  citadel ;  because  the  south 
In  all  its  chambers  laughed  a  grievous  red 
Out  of  the  vineyards  of  its  wantonness; 
Because  our  fitful  pulses,  when  they  fell, 
Sang  grief,  division,  terror,  shame,  and  loss, 
Troubling  that  harmony  which  is  the  breath 


ACT  I]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  189 

Ofjihe  gods'  nostrils,  yea  the  delicate  tune 

To  which  they  pace  their  souls,  and  act  with  joy 

Their  several  ministries. 

PYRRHA. 

Why  then  so  long 

Do  these  flat  slugs,  that  once  were  statured  men, 
Cling  to  the  oozy  earth-rind  He  would  cleanse 
For  some  new  perfect   race?    Why,  wher^thou 

heard 'st 

Prometheus  whisper  thee  his  fearful  news 
That  evening  by  the  farm-gate,  did'st  thou  grant 
No  sleep  to  slave  or  free,  till  from  the  hills 
The  mighty  pines  were  dragged,  the  hull-beams 

laid, 

The  roof-  tree  .raised,  the  doors  and  windows  set, 
And  through  the  muttering  thunder  all  thy  house 
Led  in  to  safety?   When  the  holy  fire, 
Brought  by  thine  own  hands  from  the  hearth, 

went  out, 

Why  did'st  thou  bare  thy  white  head  to  the  storm 
To  fetch  another  brand,  and,  finding  none, 
Come  forth  with  lamentation?   Why  were  seen, 
Through   all    thy   mountain    kingdom,    runners 
stripped, 


190  THE   FIRE-BRINGER          [ACT  i 

And  panted  words,  and  flying  to  the  peaks? 
Thou  answerest  not;  but  leaning  darkly  down 
Over  the  head  of  little  ^Eolus, 
Fingerest  a  tarnished  lock  from  out  the  dust! 
Speak,  father!  Through  this  numbing  gloom,  this 

death, 
This  veil  of  years,  thy  silence  pierceth  me. 

DEUKALION. 

I  try  to  feel  again  the  thing  I  felt, 
But  cannot,  so  the  sinews  of  my  soul 
Are  loosened.   Yet  't  was  for  this  radiant  head 
That  all  was  done  defiantly  toward  God. 
His  father  Hellen  and  our  other  sons 
Were  wandering,  or  had  poured  their  lifeblood 

out 

In  obscure  battle.   This  alone  was  left, 
This  little  flower  of  Greece,  for  whom  I  dreamed 
Kingdoms  and  glories,  plaudits,  trophies,  palms, 
And  sound  of  deathless  lyres  across  the  world. 
For  his  sake,  fumbling  in  the  gloom  I  built 
This  altar,  and  have  groped  about  the  rocks 
For  live  thing  worthy  sacrifice;  have  lain 
In  bush  and  hollow  till  some  dreaming  bird 
Or  sleep-besotted  beast  fell  to  my  hands, 


ACT  I]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  191 

And  rent  the  same,  and  offered  it  yith  groans 
Upon  the  smokeless  altar. 

PYRRHA. 

Once  He  heard, 
Thpji  Jmo_v££st. 

DEUKALION. 
I  know.   We  will  not  think  thereon! 

PYRRHA. 

The  unwrought  shapes,  the  unmoulded  attitudes ! . 
The  tongues  of  earth,  the  stony  craving  eyes! 

DEUKALION. 

Unto  the  husband  was  the  wife's  desire 
No  longer,  nor  the  husband's  to  the  wife. 
The  young  maid  lay  undreamed  on  by  the  boy. 
The  little  life  that  was,  was  sinking  fast 
Or  sunk  beyond  recall.    God's  doubtful  voice  ^ 
Out  of  the  wind  of  the  oak  was  fair  to  hear,./ 
Seeming  to  promise  store  of  goodly  men,     Q 
And  women  vessels  for  the  flowing  life 
To  enter  and  be  spilled  not.   There  was  hope. 
Prometheus  said  not  nay.    Beside  the  verge 
Of  the  spent  flood  did  we  not  see  him  stoop. 
Kneading  the  clay  in  with  the  roiled  foam, 


192  THE  FIRE-BRINGER          [ACT  I 

Breathing  and_breathing  with  his  fiery  breath, 

Then  cry  upon  his  work,  and  scattering  it 

Rise  up  in  haste  and  wrath?   Yet  here  was  hope! 

PYRRHA. 

Yea,  as  I  flungjjie  clods,  and  stooped  and  flung, 
I  dared  not  look  behind,  for  hope;  and  thou, 
Stooping  and  flinging  the  allotted  stones, 
Seemed  clothed  in  prime  of  years,  foreseeing  earth 
With  a  big  breed  replenished;  till  on  a  sudden 
Terribly  out  of  the  gloom  the  Titan  cried ; 
Then  we,  ceasing,  beheld,  and  fled  in  fear. 

DEUKALION. 

Would  they  might  sit  as  now,  removed  apart, 
Brooding  upon  the  ground ;  nor  come  again 
With  vague  slow  motion  up  the  shrouded  slope, 
Filling  the  mist  with  formless  utterance, 
As  craving  to  be  born !    Mvjnen  of  stone 
In  dreams  appal  me  with  their  lifted  hands 
Of  threat  and  supplication,  and  by  thee 
Stand  the  earth-women  pleading. 

PYRRHA. 

Ere  I  slept 
I  was  anhungered.  Searching  for  sweet  roots 


ACT  I]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  193 

I  crawled  and  groped  my  way,  till  I  was  come 

Unto  a  brackish  water  cupped  and  held 

From   that   same   sea   whereof   the  gurge   but 

then 

Lessened  its  roar  far  down  the  cragged  dark. 
There  by  the  pool  they  sat,  with  faces  lift 
And  brows  of  harsh  attention;  in  their  midst 
Pandora  bowed,  and  sang  a  doubtful  song, 
Its  meaning  faint  or  none,  but  mingled  up 
Of  all  that  nests  and  housekeeps  in  the  heart, 
Or  puts  out  in  lone  passion  toward  the  vast 
And  cannot  choose  but  go. 

DEUKALION. 

In  mockery  sent, 

In  mercy  be  she  taken,  or  on  the  hills 
Drinking  this  darkness,  wither  and  be  changed 
To  such  as  we  are! 

PYRRHA. 

Thinkest  thou  that  Zeus 
In  anger  made  her  thus? 

DEUKALION. 

'T  will  be  so.    When  she  came 
Our  minds  were  dim  an3TTearful. 


194  THE  FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  i 

PYRRHA. 

Very  dim, 

And  blurred  with  fearful  dream ;  but — By  the  boat 
We  crouched,  and  hearkened  if  the  water  still 
Drew  downward,  or  was  crawling  up  again 
To  seize  us  unaware;  the  mist  was  full 
Of  beasts  and  men  in  wretched  fellowship; 
Then  suddenly  a  breath  like  morning  blew; 
I  saw  as  't  were  a  shadowy  sun  and  moon 
/Go  up  the  blinded  sky;  far  off  yet  near 
\  I  heard  Prometheus  speaking,  and  her  voice 
/In  low  and  happy  answer. 

DEUKALION. 

He  would  catch 

The  hurled  thunder-bolt*  and  forge  from  it 
A  reaper's  hook;  the  vials  of  white  wrath 
He  spills  to  make  a  wine-cup  for  a  feast; 
Curses  he  knows  not  from  the  gifts  of  love; 
And  in  the  shadow  of  this  death,  even  here, 
As  low  as  from  her  pitch  of  pride  earth's  fallen, 
He  will  be  plotting  that  whereby  to  climb 
And  lift  us  high  above  the  peaks  of  God 
One  dizzy  instant,  ere  we  fall  indeed 
And  he  with  us  forever! 


ACT  I]          THE  FIRE-BRINGER  195 

PANDORA. 

Sings,  below. 

Along  the  earth  and  up  the  sky  }  ' 

i 

The  Fowler  spreads  his  net: 

( 


,  what  pinions  wild  and  shy    \ 

Are  on  thy  shoulders  set? 

J 


m 
What  wings  of  longing  undeterred  ' 


L^^,  ^ 
Are  native  to  thee,  spirit  bird? 


PYRRHA. 

^Hearken,  is't  not 

Her  song  again?   Far  down  among  the  vales 
Did'st  hear  it?     Faint  and  far,  but  —  Hearken 
still! 

PANDORA. 
Sings. 

What  sky  is  thine  behind  the  skyt 

For  refuge  and  for  ecstasy  ? 

Of  all  thy  heavens  of  clear  delight 

Why  is  each  heaven  twain, 

0  soul!  that  when  the  lure  is  cast 

Before  thy  heedless  flight, 

And  thou  art  snared  and  taken  fast 

Within  one  sky  of  light, 


196  THE   FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  I 

Behold,  the  net  is  empty,  the  cast  is  vain, 
And  from  thy  circling   in  the  other  sky  the  lyric 
laughters  rain! 

DEUKALION. 
Through  the  gorge  there  —  a  shadow  —  Pyrrha, 

look! 

Over  the  torrent  bed  and  up  the  slope 
Something  comes  on,  in  stature  more  than  man, 
And  swifter. 

PYRRHA. 

O  swift-comer,  it  is  thou ! 
None  other,  thou,  wind-ranger,  bringer-in! 
Child,  be  awake!  Prometheus! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Entering,  lifts  Pyrrha. 

Do  not  so; 

These  hands  come  poor;  these  feet  bring  nothing 

back. 

PYRRHA. 
Thy  hands  come  filled  with  thee,  thy  feet  from 

thence 
Have  brought  thee  hither;  it  is  gifts  enough. 

DEUKALION. 
Is  there  no  hope? 


ACT  I]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  197 

PYRRHA. 

Speak!  speak!  Through  this  dark  cloud 
The  eyes  of  Zeus's  eagle  cannot  pierce 
Or  any  listener  heed.   Have  we  a  hope? 

PROMETHEUS. 
Fromj^arl^La^ 
The  fire  is  gone. 

PYRRHA. 

Thy  searchings !  —  Giveth  ease 
If  but  to  hear  thy  voice. 

PROMETHEUS. 
Seats  himself  beside  the  cliff. 

I  clambered  down 

Old  earthquake-cloven  rifts  and  monstrous  chasms 
Where  long  ago  the  stripling  Titans  peered 
At  play  and  dared  not  venture,  —  found  me  out 
Flint-stones  so  buried  in  disastrous  rock 
I  thought  the  Darkener  sure  had  passed  them  by; 
But  not  a  spark  lived  in  them.    Past  the  walls 
Rhipean,  and  the  Arimaspian  caves, 
I  sought  the  far  hyperborean^day, 
But  not  a  banner  of  their  rustling  light 
Flapped  through  the  sagging  sky,  nor  did  the  Fates 


198  THE   FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  I 

Once  fling  their  gleaming  shuttles  east  or  west. 

By  Indian  Nysa  and  the  Edonian  fount 

Of  Haemus  long  I  lurked,  in  hope  to  find 

Young  Dionysus  as  he  raced  along 

And  wrest  his  pine-torch  from  him,  or  to  snare 

Some  god-distracted  dancing  aegipan, 

And  from  his  garland  crush  a  wine  of  fire 

To  light  the  passion  of  the  world  again 

And  fill  man's  veins  with  music;  but  there  went 

A  voice  of  sighing  through  the  ghostly  woods, 

And  up  the  mountain  pastures  in  the  mist 

Desolate  creatures  sorrowed  for  the  god. 

Across  the  quenched  ^Egean,  where  of  old 

The  shining  islands  sang  their  stasimon, 

Forever  chorusing  great  hymns  of  light 

Round  Delos,  through  the  driving  dark  I  steered 

To  seek  Hephsestos  on  his  Lemnian  mount; 

But  found  him  not.  His  porches  were  o'erthrown, 

His  altar  out,  and  round  his  faded  peak 

The  toiled  Cyclops,  bowing  huge  and  dim, 

Uncouthly  mourned.  .  .  . 

He  starts  up,  and  gazes  toward  tJie  mountain-top. 

Soon  will  the  smouldering  life 
Ceasejeven  to  smoulder!   I  must  forth  again. 
But  where?   But  where? 
Pause. 


ACT  I]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  199 

DEUKALION. 

Where  suppliants  still  must  go, 
But  with  the  act  of  suppliance,  and  the  mind. 
Not  stiff  and  rebel  brows,  not  daring  deeds 
Be  of  availment,  but  to  clasp  the  knees 
And  touch  the  beard  of  Zeus.    Within  his  house 
Still  lives  the  sacred  fire.    'T  is  there  to  have, 
If  one  by  sacrifice  and  rites  full-brought 
Could  find  the  way. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Laughs.  'T  is  there  to  have;  thou  sayst! 

One  thistledown  of  fortune  to  the  good 
And  't  had  been  ravished  thence,  an  hour  ago, 
To  better  uses! 

DEUKALION. 

'T  was  but  so  long  since 

The  thunder  spake.   Across  the  vault  of  heaven 
Plunged  down  the  shadowy  furnishment  of  war. 

PYRRHA. 
Thou'rt  wounded!    Lo,  this  arm  hangs  helpless 

by!- 

O,  rash  and  overbold !  Thou  —  thou  hast  dared  — 
The  hermae  holding  vigil  at  Heaven's  bound 


200  THE  FIRE-BRINGER          [ACT  I 

• 
Have  cried  thy  name  out,  and  the  shadows  vast 

Of  perished  gods,  beside  the  inmost  hearth, 
Have  spoken  of  thee,  that  the  soul  of  Zeus 
Hath  shook  with  dreams  of  evil  to  his  house! 

DEUKALION. 

How  might'st  thou  pass  the  terror  of  his  ward, 
Tread  his  serenest  citadel,  and  come 
Not  thunder- blasted  hither,  with  slight  wound? 

PROMETHEUS. 

Flings  himself  again  upon  the  ground. 
When  each  great  cycle  of  Olympian  years 
Rounds  to  its  end,  there  comes  upon  the  gods 
Mysterious  compulsion.   As  a  gem 
Borne  from  a  lighted  chamber  into  dusk, 
Heaven  of  its  splendor  disarrays  itself, 
Hushes  its  dyes,  and  all  the  whispering  sphere 
Hangs  like  a  moon  of  change.  Knowing  not  why, 
Nor  unto  what,  each  brooding  deity 
Wends  to  the  sacred  old  Uranian  field, 
Where  bloom  old  flowers,  which,  in  the  morn  of 

time, 

Forgotten  gods  did  garland  for  their  hair, 
To  celebrate  some  long- forgotten  joy 
That  then  did  pierce  the  heart  of  the  young  world. 


ACT  I]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  201 

Here  gather  they,  with  mute  and  doubtful  looks 
At  one  another,  waiting  till  She  comes, 
Mnemosyne,  mother  of  thought  and  tears, 
Remembrancer,  and  bringer  out  of  death 
Burden  of  longing  and  sweet-fruited  song. 
Then  toward  the  upper  windows  of  the  stars, 
The  roof  and  dome  of  things,  the  place  supreme 
Of  speculation  inward  on  the  frame 
Of  life  create,  and  outward  on  the  abyss 
That  moans  and  welters  in  the  wind  of  love, 
She  leadeth  up  their  shining  theory, 
And  there  they  stand  and  wonder  on  the  time 
When  they  were  not  and  when  they  shall  not  be. 
This  was  my  moment;  for  I  knew  't  was  near, 
And  laired  away  among  the  steep-up  crags 
That  bastion  and  shore-fast  his  pearl  of  power, 
His  white  acropolis.    Soft  as  light  I  passed 
The  perilous  gates  that  are  acquainted  forth, 
The  walls  of  starry  safety  and  alarm, 
The  pillars  and  the  awful  roofs  of  song, 
The  stairs  and  colonnades  whose  marble  work 
Is  spirit,  and  the  joinings  spirit  also,  - 
And  from  the  well-brink  of  his  central  court 
Dipped  vital  fire  of  fire,  flooding  my  vase, 
Glutting  it  arm-deep  in  the  keen  element. 


202  THE  FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  i 

Then  backward  swifter  than  the  osprey  dips 
Down  the  green  slide  of  the  sea,  till  —  Fool,  O 

fool! 
'T  was  in  my  hands !     'T  was  next  my  bosom ! 

Fierce 

Sang  the  bright  essence  past  my  scorching  cheek, 
Blown  up  and  backward  as  I  dropped  and  skimmed 
The  glacier-drifts,  cataracts,  wild  moraines, 
And  walls  of  frightful  plunge.  Upon  the  shore 
Of  this  our  night-bound  wretched  earth  I  paused, 
Lifted  on  high  the  triumph  of  my  hands, 
AricTFhmg  back  words  and  laughter.  As  I  dropped, 
The  dogs  of  thunder  chased  me  at  the  heels, 
A  white  tongue  shook  against  me  in  the  dark, 
And  lo,  my  vase  was  rended  in  my  hands, 
And  all  the  precious  substance  that  it  held 
Spread,  faded,  and  was  gone,  —  was  quenched, 

was  gone! 
Pause. 

DEUKALION. 
In  a  low  voice. 

We  cannot  thank  thee,  though  thy  love  be  love. 
Great  is  thy  heart;  we  cannot  praise  thy  deed. 

PROMETHEUS. 
It  was  not  therefore  done! 


ACT  I]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  203 

PYRRHA. 

For  our  poor  praise, 

For  our  poor  love  and  praise;  albeit  now 
The  shouting  of  thy  loud  blood  drowneth  all ! 

DEUKALION. 

After  a  long  silence. 

Prometheus,  thou  hast  thought  to  be  our  friend, 
Our  blood-kin,  our  indweller;  hast  indued 
Vesture  of  our  mortality  and  pain,  - 
Wherefore  if  not  for  pride,  for  fiercest  pride? 
Thou  hast  found  out  wild  pathways  for  our  tread 
ing, 

Whispered  us  Nature's  secrets,  given  to  our  hand 
The  spirit  of  fire  and  all  its  restless  works, 
Yea,  blown  aflame  our  all  too  eager  blood 
Till  earth  went  red  and  reeling  like  a  torch 
When  Dionysus  calls  under  the  moon. 
Look  round  thee,  O  storm-sower,  what  we  reap 
Now  in  the  season's  fullness!    Is  it  good? 
Pride  was  thy  lesson,  and  earth  learned  so  well 
That  she  is  fallen  more  low  than  she  was  high. 

PROMETHEUS. 

And  shall  be  higher  than  that  height  she  was, 
By  all  this  depth  she  has  fallen! 


204  THE   FIRE-BRINGER          [ACT  I 

DEUKALION. 

In  that  day 

Let  Chronos  lift  his  old  abolished  head 
From  mid  Lethean  mallows,  and  dim-tongued 
Call  to  thy  shadowy  brothers  where  they  dream, 
And  leading  up  his  faint  forgetful  host, 
Rive  the  great  diadem  from  Zeus' s  brow. 
Then  may  thy  stormy  will  at  last  be  thine; 
But  as  for  now,  even  for  thy  earth's  dear  sake, 
Bejhumble,  OJ)g.inimble!    Bind  thy  hair 
With  willow,  and  put  on  the  iron  ring, 
[That  so,  by  walking  fearfully  at  last, 
We  bend   Heaven   from   its   anger.     Else  shall 

man 

Suffer  such  woes  as  now  we  muse  not  of, 
And  thou  such  punishment  as  quails  the  heart 
To  think  on. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Either  now  with  violent  hand 
(  We  snatch  salvation  home,  or  here  we  sit 
!  Till  Python,  hissing  softly  up  the  dark, 
Dizzy  our  lapsed  souls,  and  headlong  -down 
We  drop  into  his  jaws,  which  from  the  first  — 
See,  the  boy  wakes! 


ACT  I]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  205 

^EOLUS. 
Waking. 

Give  me  to  eat  and  drink. 

PYRRHA. 

Water  and  roots  I  hoarded  in  the  cave. 
I  will  go  fetch  them  forth. 
She  goes  iff  to  the  cave. 

DEUKALION. 

Was  't  well  with  thee 
In  slumber,  child? 


I  know  not.    I  did  sleep. 

PYRRHA. 

Coming  out. 

The  roots  are  gnawed,  and  the  sweet  water  spilled. 
Be  patient,  ^Eolus,  I  will  seek  thee  more. 

DEUKALION. 

Stay;  let  me  fetch  them  rather.  Thou  wilt  fall, 
Or  meet  some  fear.   The  sluggish  serpents  lie 
And  will  not  move,  though  trodden,  save  to  sting. 

PYRRHA. 
Thou  knowest  not  where  the  roots  are  still  to  find. 


206  THE  FIRE-BRINGER          [ACT  i 

DEUKALION. 

Rising  painfully . 

Together  then.   Ah,  me!   Where  is  thy  hand? 

PYRRHA. 

Here,  father.    No,  this  way ! 
They  go  slowly  out,  feeling  along  the  cliff. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Poor  poisoned  flower, 
Poor  droop-head,  down  again! 
Stoops  over  sEolus. 

Woe  for  the  house, 

Woe  for  the  vineyard,  woe  for  the  orchard  croft, 
The  oil-tree  and  the  place  of  standing  corn! 
Woe  for  the  ships  of  venture!   Woe  on  Him 
Who  sows  and  will  not  gather;  shame  and  woe 
Who  sendeth  forth  and  when  the  message  comes 
Makes  deaf  and  strange! 
He  sinks  down  beside  the  cliff. 

O  Mother  Clymene, 

What  of  the  song-thrush  and  the  morning  star, 
The  moon   deep-hung  with   increase  down   the 

dawn, 

The  wet  fields  brightening  fast,  the  hour  thy  pangs 
Came  on  thee  for  my  sake?   What  of  the  earth 


ACT  I]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  207 

Thou  loved'st  so  well  and  taught'st  me  well  to 

love? 

-  Hears  not !   'T  was  long  ago. 
His  head  falls  upon  his  knees. 

One  deep,  deep  hour! 

To  drop  ten  thousand  fathoms  softly  down 
Below  the  lowest  heaving  of  life's  sea, 
Till  memory,  sentience,  will,  are  all  annulled, 
And    the    wild    eyes    of    the    must-be-answered0 

Sphinx, 

Couchant  at  dusk  upon  the  spirit's  moor, 
Blocking  at  noon  the  highway  of  the  soul, 
At  morn  and  night  a  spectre  in  her  gates,  — 
For  once,  for  one  deep  hour  - 
He  lifts  his  head  slowly,  and  peers  into  the  darkness. 

Say  who  ye  are 

That  fill  the  night  with  deeper  heaviness! 
Break  up  your  strangling  circle  and  come  out. 
More,  more,  and  wretcheder!   A  spirit  pass 
Into  some  old  and  unachieved  world, 
A  storm-fall  in  some  wood  of  rooted  souls! 
But  O,  what  spirit-piercing  flower  of  life 
Blooms  irorrftKe  wasteful  heap? 
From  among  the  crouching  figures  of  the  Stone  Men 
and  Earth  Women,  Pandoras  voice  is  heard. 


208  THE  FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  I 

PANDORA. 
Sings. 

Of  wounds  and  sore  defeat 

I  made  my  battle  stay ; 

Winged  sandals  for  my  feet 

I  wove  of  my  delay  ; 

Of  weariness  and  fear, 

I  made  my  shouting  spear  ; 

Of  loss,  and  doubt,  and  dread, 

And  swift  oncoming  doom 

I  made  a  helmet  for  my  head 

And  a  floating  plume. 

From  the  shutting  mist  of  death, 

From  the  failure  of  the  breath, 

I  made  a  battle-horn  to  blow 

A  cross  the  vales  of  overthrow. 

O  hearken,  love,  the  battle-horn! 

The  triumph  clear,  the  silver  scorn! 

0  hearken  where  the  echoes  bring. 

Down  the  grey  disastrous  morn, 

Laughter  and  rallying! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Thou!   Is  it  thou? 


ACT  l]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  209 

PANDORA. 

Comes  from  among  the  recumbent  figures,  holding  some 
thing  aloft. 
Where  is  Prometheus? 

PROMETHEUS. 

I  am  I,  thou  knowest. 

PANDORA. 
I  had  a  gift  for  him.   Where  is  he  gone? 

PROMETHEUS. 

Give  me  thy  gift.   'T  will  bring  Prometheus  back 
To  the  high  home  and  fortress  of  his  soul, 
Where  thou  and  he  made  gladness. 
She  gives  him  a  fennel  stalk. 

What  is  this? 

PANDORA. 
A  hollow  reed.    I  found  it  on  the  hills. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Such  used  the  mothers  in  the  upland  farms 
Fetch  unpolluted  fire  in,  once  a  year, 
To  light  their  hearths  anew;  such  would  the  girls 
Crown  with  fir-cone  and  smilax  when  they  heard 


210  THE  FIRE-BRINGER          [ACT  i 

The  frenzied  pipe  call  in  the  midnight  hills, 
And  whisperings  of  anguish  dimmed  their  blood. 

PANDORA. 

(Such  had  Prometheus,  were  he  here  again, 
/Wreathed  for  his  listening  earth ;  such  had  he  filled 
jWith  unpolluted  fire,  and  kindled  new 
\Ehe  hearth- cheer  of  the  world. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Earth,  sea,  and  air, 

The  caverned  clouds,  the  chambers  of  the  storm, 
Yea,  the  thrice  perilous  alps  and  crags  of  Heaven 
Have  watched  the  robber  lurk,  and  laughed  at 

him! 
Do  not  thou  mock  him  too! 

PANDORA. 

Him  I  will  mock 

Who,  being  thirsty,  climbs  not  to  the  spring, 
But  meanly  drinks  at  rillet  and  low  pool, 
And  thirsteth  still  the  more. 

PROMETHEUS. 

The  spring?  The  spring? 
He  hesitates,  then  starts  up  with  a  wild  gesture. 
I  could  have  done  it  once!   I  could  have  done  it! 


ACT  I]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  211 

PANDORA. 

Coming  nearer. 

Stranger ! 

PROMETHEUS. 
Hush,  look!   They  rise  at  me  again! 

THE  STONE  MEN. 
When  earth_did  heavejzs  thejsea^  at  the  lifting  up  of 

the  hills, 
One  said,  "  Ye  shall  wake  and  be;  fear  not,  ye  shall 

have  your  wills." 
We  waited  patient  and  dumb;  and  ere  we  thought 

to  have  heard. 
One  said  to  us,  l '  Stay  ! ' '  and  ' '  Come  !  "  —  a  dim  and 

a  mumbled  word. 
Mortise  us  into  the  wall  again,  or  lift  us  up  that  we 

look  therefrom! 

THE  EARTH  WOMEN. 

The  night,  the  rain,  and  the  dew  from  of  old  had 

lain  with  us, 
The  suns  and  winds  were  our  lovers  too,  and  our 

husbands  bounteous: 
But  lo,  we  were  sick  at  heart  when  we  leaned  from 

the  towers  of  the  pine, 


212  THE  FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  I 

We  yearned  and  thirsted  apart  in  the  crimson  globes 
of  the  vine. 

0  tell  us  of  them  that  hew  the  tree,  bring  us  to  them 

that  drink  the  wine  ! 
They  disappear. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Only  a  moment  did  they  strain  their  brows 
In  weary  question  at  me,  ere  they  turned 
And  melted  down  into  the  blotting  dark! 
He  starts  slowly  down  the  slope. 

PANDORA. 
They  go  to  find  Prometheus. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Of  these  stones 

To  build  my  rumoring  city,  based  deep 
On  elemental  silence;  in  this  earth 
To  plant  my  cool  vine  and  my  shady  tree 
Whose  roots  shall  feed  upon  the  central  fire! 
He  turns  to  Pandora. 
Love! 

PANDORA. 
Where  thou  goest,  I  am;  there,  even  now 

1  stand  and  cry  thee  to  me. 


ACT  I]          THE  FIRE-BRINGER  213 

PROMETHEUS. 

Starts  again  down  the  slope. 

Yea,  I  come, 

I  come ;  to  find  somewhere  through  the  piled  gloom 
A  mountain  path  to  unimagined  day, 
Build  all  this  anger  into  walls  of  war 
Not  dreamed  of,  dung  and  fatten  with  this  death 
New  fields  of  pleasant  life,  and  make  them  teem 
Strange  corn,  miraculous  wine! 


PANDORA. 

Watching  him  disappear. 


Prometheus,  lord! 


ACT   II 

Scene  as  before.  The  space  below  the  cliffs  is  deserted ; 
on  tJie  slope  above,  voices  of  men  and  women  are 
heard. 

FIRST  VOICE. 
Peer  farther  down!  Hear'st  thou  the  waters  yet? 

SECOND  VOICE. 

With  sea-slime  and  with  lichen-tangled  shells 
The  rocks  are  strewn,  and  ocean-breathing  things 
Gasp  in  the  shallow  pools;  but  the  main  flood 
Is  sunken  further  than  the  ear  can  hark. 
They  descend. 

A  YOUNG  MAN'S  VOICE. 

Above. 

A  little  strength,  sister,  a  little  strength! 
Nay  then,  I  die  with  thee. 

AN  OLD  MAN'S  VOICE. 

My  son,  my  son, 
Where  art  thou?  Answer  me! 


ACT  II]         THE   FIRE-BRINGER  215 

ANOTHER  VOICE. 

Peace.     He  is  deacf. 
I  saw  him  sink  upon  the  farther  slope. 
Back  to  him,  if  thou  wilt;  thou'lt  come  too  late. 

CHORUS  OF  MEN. 
The  fallen  must  lie  where  they  fell, 
For  the  dead  cannot  succor  the  dead. 

CHORUS  OF  WOMEN. 
O  when  through  the  valleys  of  hell 
Shall  the  light  of  our  Saviour  be  shed? 
They  descend.   Others  appear  from  above. 

FIRST  VOICE. 

Above. 

Trust  not  the  sea!    Look  where  the  frothing  lip 
Curls  off  the  giant  fang!    Back  to  the  heights! 

SECOND  VOICE. 
Nay,  fallen  are  the  waters.    It  is  past. 

THIRD  VOICE. 

The  life  we  hurled  from  off  the  temple  crag 
With  supplications  and  with  piercing  song, 
Has  made  thus  much  appeasement.    One  more 
life 


216  THE  FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  II 

Will  roll  away  the  ocean  of  main  dark; 
Unless  we  be  forever  doomed  to  lie 
As  now,  blind  bulks  of  sleep,  or  hunger-bitten 
To  creep  the  stagnant  bottom  of  the  world. 

FOURTH  VOICE. 

This  way,  't  is  said,  Deukalion  carried  him. 

Follow  on,  yonder,  where  the  cliff  breaks  down. 

They  descend ;  others  follow.  Frem  the  side,  below  the 
cliffs,  a  muttering  group  presses  in ;  in  their  midst 
are  Deukalion  andPyrrha,  who  shield  sEolus  against 
the  cliff.  The  space  about  the  altar  is  filled  with  in 
distinct  figures. 

DEUKALION. 

I  am  king,  hear  ye,  am  I  not  the  king? 
Higher  than  I  is  none.   Take  me!   Why  him, 
Little  of  strength  and  wisdom?    I  am  wise, 
My  cunning  brain  is  stronger  than  a  host. 
Though  this  my  spear-arm  be  a  little  fallen 
From  when  it  led  you  out  against  the  north, 
I  am  more  terrible  and  mighty  now, 
An  old,  much-seeing  spirit.    In  my  death 
The  gods  will  taste  a  pleasure  and  be.  soothed. 
But  from   this  child,   this  playmate  —  look  ye 
here  — 


ACT  ii]         THE   FIRE-BRINGER  217 

This  piece  of  summer's  carelessness,  this  tuft 
Of  hyssop  planted  by  the  wells  of  glee,  — 
What  honor  should  the  dread  gods  have  on  him? 
They  shall  have  me,  Deukalion  — 

A  MAN'S  VOICE. 

Bring  not  on  us 

With  wordy  shifts,  the  last  steep  horror  down ! 
That  is  no  babe  thy  withered  arm  hides  there. 
We  know  him;  we  have  seen.    If  he  might  live 
His  name  would  fill  the  future,  and  make  big 
The  story  of  his  folk.    He  is  our  best, 
Our  soul  of  price,  and  him  the  gods  demand, 
Together  with  the  maid,  whose  father  here  — 
O  how  much  more  a  kinglier  will  than  thou !  — 

DEUKALION. 
Where  art  thou,  Lykophon?   Mine  eyes  are  dim. 

LYKOPHON. 
Here  by  the  altar. 

DEUKALION. 
And  thy  child? 

LYKOPHON. 

Here  too. 


218  THE   FIRE-BRINGER        [ACT  II 

DEUKALION. 

Thy  heart  is  firm  to  do  it?   Thou  wilt  live, 
And  think  on  't  after?   Ay,  remember  that! 
Hast  weighed  that  with  the  rest? 

LYKOPHON. 

He  was  my  slave, 

Whose  crazed  old  voice  cried  yonder  of  his  son. 
Was  it  to  win  a  remnant  of  dim  days, 
A  handful  of  poor  mealtimes  and  to-beds, 
He  offered  him?  To  watch  some  mornings  rise, 
Some  evenings  fall,  fringing  with  fearful  light 
The   cliff   he  hurled   him   from   to   the   hungry 

sea? 
Am  I  a  lesser  than  my  bondman  is? 

DEUKALION. 

Yea,  ye  will  teach  me,  and  I  '11  bear  it  tame ! 
I  know  what  fits  a  king,  what  he  must  pay 
In  peace  of  soul  and  heart's  blood  for  his  folk. 
King-drownling  of  an  island  of  drowned  dogs, 
Wolves,  snakes,  and  field-rats,  crept  from  out  the 

flood 

For  hunger  and  the  hell-bred  fog  to  rot ! 
Rot  ye!    I  '11  keep  my  own. 


ACT  II]         THE   FIRE-BRINGER  219 

LYKOPHON. 
To  the  crowd. 

Back,  back,  I  say! 
The  gods  despise  enforced  offerings. 
When  the  heart  brings  its  dearest  and  its  last 
Then  only  will  they  hear  —  if  then,  if  then! 

DEUKALION. 

Be  this  life  taken,  what  is  left?   O  friends, 
O  wretched  children,  lift  your  hearts  and  eyes, 
Look  through  the  death-dark  hither  and  be  known 
On  what  you  ask;  think  on  yourselves,  on  me, 
On  them  that  keep  the  heights,  and  who  lie  strewn 
Along  the  downward  path.  See  how  the  price 
Doth  shame  the  purchase! 

A  MAN'S  VOICE. 

We  have  thought  on  these, 
And  find  they  are  our  brothers  and  our  friends, 
Our  parents,  children,  wives;  and  that  they  die. 

LYKOPHON. 
Not  they  alone.   The  past,  the  future  dies. 

A  WOMAN'S  VOICE. 

Hark  what  he  says !  He  knows  not,  yet  he  says ! 
None  of  you  know.    I  have  cried  unto  you 


220  THE  FIRE-BRINGER        [ACT  n 

And  told  you  of  it,  but  you  will  not  know! 
You  will  not  listen  what  I  carry  here 
Under  my  heart,  and  feed  and  shelter  now, 
That  then  shall  be  the  bread  and  wine  of  the  world, 
The  torch  and  sword  and  lyre,  the  water-brook, 
The  lion-gate  and  wall  of  many  towers, 
The  marshaler  of  dances,  —  there,  O  there 
Beyond  the  shadow  and  the  sorrow,  far 
In  God's  new  garden,  his  green  virgin  mount! 

CHORUS  OF  WOMEN. 

Would,  would  we  might  be  silent,  for  we  know 
Though  now  He  puts  us  by, 
Though  now  He  heeds  us  not  nor  hearkeneth, 
The  groping  of  our  anguish  up  the  sky 
Will  wean  and  wear  Him  so 
That  in  the  vexed  sendings  of  his  breath 
He  will  breathe  out  a  deeper  than  the  gloom 
Of  our  deep  doom, 

And  put  in  death  a  sting  sharper  than  death. 
Distant  thunder. 

CHORUS  OF  MEN. 

Seize  them  and  stifle  up  their  irking  lips! 
He  grudgeth  at  us,  but  forgetteth  where 
He  felt  our  spreaded  palms,  and  was  aware 


ACT  II]         THE   FIRE-BRINGER  221 

Of  fierce  and  tedious  prayer. 
Yonder  of  us  night  darkens  with  his  frown; 
Far  off,  and  all  forgetfully  He  drips 
His  drowsy  anger  down. 

The  thunder  rolls  nearer,  and  terrific  storm  sweeps  over 
the  scene. 

A  WOMAN'S  VOICE. 

Ah,  no,  He  smiteth  us!   His  lightning  leaps 
From  end  to  end  of  the  world ! 

A  MAN'S  VOICE. 

His  thunder  shakes 
The  pillars  of  the  dark.   Lo,  up  above 
The  roof  of  darkness  ruins  and  lets  in 
Thrice  horrible  night! 

ANOTHER  VOICE. 

Alas,  the  wind,  the  wind! 
The  trampling  and  the  bellowing  herds  of  rain 
Loose  on  the  mountain  slopes !  Bow  down !   Bow 
down! 

DEUKALION. 
Gropes  forward  through  the  tempest  and  lifts  ALolus 

upon  the  altar. 

Lord,  stretch  thy  hand  and   take  him!    He  is 
thine. 


222  THE   FIRE-BRINGER        [ACT  n 

LYKOPHON. 
What  criest  thou,  Deukalion? 

DEUKALION. 

Take  the  child. 

The  gods'  dark  will  be  done!    I  am  content. 
He/alls. 

LYKOPHON. 
Bending  over  him. 
Deukalion ! 

PYRRHA. 
Husband !  Father !  Speak,  look  up ! 

LYKOPHON. 
Rising. 

The  king  is  down.    Here  in  his  mighty  room 
I  stand  up  over  you !   Where  is  the  priest 
Who  serves  the  altar  on  God's  mountain  top? 

A  MAN'S  VOICE. 

Yonder  he  crouches,  and  his  sacred  eyes 
Are  set  athwart;  he  wanders  in  his  wit. 

LYKOPHON. 

Prepare  him  for  his  ministry.  .  .  .  And  thou, 
Alcyone,  sweet  head !   Thou  keepsake  life 


ACT  II]        THE  FIRE-BRINGER  223 

Left  me  for  memory,  thou  precious  seal 
Stamped  with  her  mystic  love-sign  unto  me, 
I  put  her  blessing  on  thee;  and  do  thou 
Kiss  me,  and  put  her  blessing  upon  me 
For  this  I  do. 
He  lifts  her  iipon  the  altar. 

Weep  not.  —  Room  for  the  priest ! 
The  priest  advances,  holding  the  sacrificial  knife. 

PYRRHA. 

Flings  herself  before  the  altar. 
Hold  off  your  hands,  hold  off!  The  king  is  fallen, 
And  falling  spake  somewhat.    But  I,  who  drank 
Of  his  deep  will,  who  ever  was  and  am 
His  heart's  high  furtherer,  cry  over  him 
Ye  shall  not  touch  them  yet !    Not  yet  ye  shall ! 
Not  till  Prometheus  comes  or  makes  a  sign! 

LYKOPHON. 

Thou  see'st  the  grey  eternities  of  time 

That  we  have  waited,  till  our  minds  are  crazed 

With  watching,  and  our  all  o'er-hearkened  ears 

Hear  silence  roar  and  mutter  like  a  sea; 

And  still  he  comes  not,  and  no  word  comes  past 

The  crouching  places  and  close  lairs  of  death. 


224  THE   FIRE-BRINGER        [ACT  n 

A  MAN'S  VOICE. 

Yet  he  will  come:  his  haughty  soul  shall  not 
Be  hindered  of  its  walk. 

PRIEST. 

Behind  the  wall 

A  thief  was  taken,  and  his  sons  at  dawn 
Said,   "Now  he  comes  with  purchase;   we  will 

feast,"  - 

Even  while  the  ravens  on  his  glazing  eyes 
Were  feasted,  and  the  master  of  the  house 
Said,  "I  have  judged  him  and  forgotten  him." 
Ye  blind  and  credulous,  ye  whispering  things! 
Mutterers,  collusioners !  What  wait  we  for? 

CHORUS  OF  WOMEN. 
O  that  our  spirits  might  not  thus 
Afflict  us,  making  pictures  on  the  dark, 
And  giving  silence  tongues  to  cry  against  us! 
For  though  we  shut  our  ears  and  will  not  hark, 
And  blind  our  eyes  from  seeing,  he  is  there;' 
The  dust  of  heavenly  battle  dims  his  hair, 
The  large  gods  close  about  him,  he  is  down; 
Now  thrice  three  times  about  the  shining  town 
The  thunder- winged  chariot  drags  his  corse; 


ACT  II]          THE   FIRE-BRINGER  225 

And  now  they  bind  him  to  the  winged  horse 
With  chains  of  burning  light;  the  portent  rears 

away 
O'er  prairies  of  insufferable  day! 

CHORUS  OF  MEN. 

'Twixt  Berenice's  tangled  hair 

And  that  blue  region  of  the  morning  where 

The  bright  wind-shaken  Lyre 

Sheds  down  the  dawn  its  spilth  of  silver  fire, 

We  saw  him  stoop  and  run  upon  the  air, 

Shielding  from  region  gusts  the  stolen  flame; 

But  from  a  steep  cloud  warping  up  the  west 

A  curse  of  lightning  came. 

With  tort-flung  neck  and  clutched  breast 

He  fell,  a  ruined  star; 

And  now  the  char 

Had  quenched  itself  with  hissing,  in  the  sea,  • 

But  lo,  again  his  soul  flamed  gloriously! 

The  eagle  tempest,  gyring  from  its  place, 

Seized  him,  and  whirled, 

And  hung  him  on  the  plunging  prow  of  the  world, 

To  shed  the  anguish  of  his  face 

Upon  the  reefs  and  shoals  of  space, 

To  lighten  with  the  splendor  of  his  pain 


226  THE  FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  n 

Earth's  pathway  through  the  main, 

Though  death  was  all  her  freightage,  and  the 

breath 
That  swelled  her  sails  was  death. 

A  MAN'S  VOICE. 

He  will  not  come.    I  heard  an  old  bard  once 
Sing  of  him,  saying  Titan,lapetos 
Fathered  him  not;  his  mother  Clymene, 
Wandering  in  the  morning  of  the  world, 
Suffered  human  embraces.    'T  will  be  so, 
For  he  is  human-minded,. and too, slight 
To  wrest  from  God's  hand  the  withholden  fire. 

SECOND  VOICE. 
Hearken!   One  sings  upon  the  upper  slopes. 

THIRD  VOICE. 

'T  is  she,  the  other  gift  in  mockery  sent, 
Pandora. 

FOURTH  VOICE. 
Haunting,  cruel  to  the  heart. 
She  opens  sunny  doors,  which  ere  we  look 
Are  closed  foreverlasting,  and  their  place 
Not  to  be  guessed. 


ACT  II]         THE  FIRE-BRINGER  227 

FIFTH  VOICE. 

This  was  another  thing 

Prometheus  did.    Whom  the  gods  sent  in  wrath 
To  make  us  know  how  wondrous  was  the  life 
That  inchmeal  they  took  from  us,  even  her 
He  chose  out  for  his  love,  and  even  here 
He  made  his  bridals. 

SIXTH  VOICE. 

Some  say  't  is  not  so, 
But  she  Pandora  is  a  child  he  had 
Before  the  sea  rose  and  the  night  came  down, 
And  others  say  his  sister,  whom  he  fetched 
From  Hades,  where  she  was  with  Clymene, 
Being  childed  late,  after  the  Titans  fell. 

A  WOMAN'S  VOICE. 

Hush,  hark,  the  pouring  music!   Never  yet 
The  pools  below  the  waterfalls,  thy  pools, 
Thy  dark  pools,  O  my  heart  — ! 

A  YOUNG  MAN'S  VOICE. 

Delirious  breast ! 

She  jetteth  gladness  as  a  sacred  bird, 
That  o'er  the  springtime  waves,  at  large  of  dawn, 


228  THE   FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  II 

Off  Delos,  to  the  wakening  Cyclades 
Declares  Apollo. 

A  GIRL'S  VOICE. 

Once  more,  once  more,  O  sisters,  ere  we  die 
I  will  lift  up  my  cry 

To  Him  who  loved  us  though  He  puts  us  by. 
For  yonder  singer  with  the  golden  mouth 
Hath  fallen  upon  us  privily  as  falls 
The  still  spring  out  of  the  south 
On  the  shut  passes  and  locked  mountain  walls, 
And  suddenly  from  out  my  frozen  heart 
Dark  buds  of  sorrow  start, 

Freshets  of  thought  through  my  faint  being  roll, 
And  dim  remembrance  gropes  and  travails  in  my 
soul. 

I  will  cry  on  Him  piercingly 

By  reason  of  my  girlhood  how  it  ailed, 

Then  when  I  seemed 

Unto  myself  a  thing  myself  had  dreamed, 

And  for  whose  sake  the  visionary  Spring 

High  in  the  chilly  meadows  where  she  stood 

With  lips  of  passionate  listening 

In  the  sea- wind  above  the  moaning  wood, 


ACT  II]         THE   FIRE-BRINGER  229 

Scattered  her  discrowned  hair,  and  bowed  herself, 

and  wailed. 

And  then,  a  little  after,  came  a  day 
Xhat  loosed  my  bands  of  ailing  all  away ; 
For  somewhere  in  the  wilds  a  spirit  spoke, 
The  ghostly  earth  went  past  me  like  a  stream, 
And  swooning  suddenly  aloft  I  woke 
To  an  intenser  dream. 

Would  mine  were  that  same  spirit's  tongue  to  tell 
The  joy  that  then  befell,  — 
Rather  befell  not,  but  refrained, 
Lurked  and  withdrew,  , 

And  was  an  inner  freshness  in  the  dew, 
A  look  inscrutable  the  stars  put  on, 
A  fount  of  secret  color  in  the  dawn, 
After  day-fall  a  daylight  that  remained 
Brighter  than  what  was  gone. 
O  sisters,  kiss  the  numbing  death  away 
From  off  my  heavy  lips,  and  let  me  say 
How  fair  my  summoned  spirit  blossomed  in  its  clay, 
When  the  girls  sang  of  me  that  I  was  his 
Whose  voice  I  heard  treading  the  wilderness; 
And  I  had  followed  him  as  the  homing  dove 
That  furtive  way  he  went, 
Till  now  he  had  brought  me  up  into  his  tent, 


230  THE   FIRE-BRINGER          [ACT  II 

Where  flutes  made   mention   of   love,    and   wild 

throats  said 

With  wine  and  honey  of  love  were  his  tables  spread, 
Also  the  banner  over  us  was  love ! 
Pause. 

A  WOMAN'S  VOICE. 

Look,  Pandora  comes! 

See,  there  above  the  cliff  she  glimmers  down, 
And  darker  shapes  come  with  her. 

A  MAN'S  VOICE. 

The  big  seed 
Deukalion  and  Pyrrha  sowed  in  hope 

To  reap  in  terror;  the  scarce-featured  sons 
Of  stone,  and  daughters  of  the  sullen  glebe. 

DEUKALION. 

Waking. 

Pyrrha!  Where  art  thou? 

PYRRHA. 

'T  is  my  face  thou  feelest, 
Thy  groping  hands  are  even  on  me,  father. 

DEUKALION. 

Who  are  these?   How  is  't  with  us?   O  wherefore 
Gaze  ye  all  thus  aloft? 


ACT  n]         THE   FIRE-BRINGER  231 

PYRRHA. 

Pandora  comes. 

DEUKALION. 

I  see  naught.   Since  a  little  while  mine  eyes 
And  brain  are  faded.   Help  mine  eyes  to  see. 

PYRRHA. 

She  pauses  on  the  margin  of  the  cliff. 
About  her  are  the  shapes  of  them  who  rose 
Behind  us,  when  we  sowed  the  heavy  seed. 
Her  either  hand  is  on  a  kneeling  head, 
Female  and  male;  her  forehead  more  than  theirs 
Is  lifted  up  in  yearning,  and  her  face 
Is  like  the  lyrist's  when  at  first  he  waits 
And  drifts  his  heart  up  through  the  cloudy  strings. 

A  MAN'S  VOICE. 

Take  heed  there  to  the  lad,  where  he  hath  risen 
His  height  upon  the  altar!   And  the  maid 
Is  risen.    Look  to  them! 

PYRRQA. 

Children!  ^olus! 

What  is  't  with  you  ?   What  search  ye  in  the 
heavens? 


232  THE   FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  n 

O,  to  what  high  thing  do  your  spirits  strain 
And  your  hands  tremble  up? 


AND  ALCYONE. 
Looking  and  pointing  upward. 

The  stars!  The  stars! 
Pause. 

DEUKALION. 

Why  hath  so  deep  a  hush  fallen  on  the  night? 
I  heard  a  whispering  cry.   What  whisper  they? 

PYRRHA. 
^Eolus  pointed  —  whispering  of  the  stars. 

DEUKALION. 
^Eolus  —  stars.    Pyrrha  ! 

PYRRHA. 

Withthee! 

DEUKALION. 

Spakest  thou 
Of  stars? 

PYRRHA. 
Ay,  so  he  whispered  ! 


ACT  II]         THE   FIRE-BRINGER  233 

DEUKALION. 

Thou  —  and  thou? 

PYRRHA. 

Nothing,  nothing.  My  soul  was  as  a  lake 
Spread  out  in  utter  darkness;  to  its  depth 
There  pierced  a  silvery  trembling  — 

DEUKALION. 

Look  again. 

Wife,  cease  to  pray !  Look  out  again ! 

PYRRHA. 

The  dark 

Gathers  and  flees,  and  the  wide  roof  of  night 
Leans  in  as  it  would  break;  the  mountainous 

gloom 

Unmoors,  and  streameth  on  us  like  a  sea. 
O  Earth,  lift  up  thy  gates!    It  is  the  stars! 
It  is  the  stars!   It  is  the  ancient  stars! 
It  is  the  young  and  everlasting  stars! 

PANDORA. 
Sings. 

Because  one  creature  of  his  breath 
Sang  loud  into  the  face  of  death, 
Because  one  child  of  his  despair 


234  THE   FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  II 

Could  strangely  hope  and  wildly  dare. 

The  Spirit  comes  to  the  Bride  again, 

And  breathes  at  her  door  the  name  of  the  child; 

"  This  is  the  son  that  ye  bore  me!   When 

< 

Shall  we  kiss,  and  be  reconciled?11 

Furtive,  dumb,  in  the  tardy  stone, 

With  gropings  sweet  in  the  patient  sod, 

In  the  roots  of  the  pine,  in  the  crumbled  cone, 

With  cries  of  haste  in  the  willow-rod,  - 

By  pools  where  the  hyla  swells  his  throat 

And  the  partridge  drums  to  his  crouching  mate, 

Where  the  moorland  stag  and  the  mountain  goat 

Strictly  seek  to  the  ones  that  wait,  - 

In  seas  aswing  on  the  coral  bar, 

In  feasting  depths  of  the  evening  star, 

In  the  dust  where  the  mourner  bows  his  head, 

In  the  blood  of  the  living,  the  bones  of  the  dead,  - 

Wounded  with  love  in  breast  and  side, 

The  Spirit  goes  in  to  the  Bride! 

PYRRHA. 

The  veil  that  hid  the  holy  sky  is  rent; 
The  vapors  ravel  down ;  and  a  bright  wind 
Blows,  that  the  planets  and  the  shoaled  worlds 
Stoop  from  their  dance,  and  wheel  and  shout  again, 


ACT  II]         THE   FIRE-BRINGER  235 

Scattering  influence  as  a  maenad  shakes 

Pine  sparks  and  moon-dew  from  her  whirling 

hair. 

And  hark,  below,  the  many-voiced  earth, 
The  chanting  of  the  old  religious  trees, 
Rustle  of  far-off  waters,  woven  sounds 
Of  small  and  multitudinous  lives  awake, 
Peopling  the  grasses  and  the  pools  with  joy, 
Uttering  their  meaning  to  the  mystic  night! 

A  MAN'S  VOICE. 

Within  my  soul  there  is  a  rushing  down 
Like  darkness,  and  my  being,  as  a  heaven, 
Soareth  apparent,  as  a  heaven  with  stars. 
A  heaven  hung  with  stars  my  spirit  is, 
And  all  among  them  walks  a  wind  of  will, 
Uttering  life,  and  purpose,  and  desire! 

A  WOMAN'S  VOICE. 

O  for  the  dreaming  herbs,  the  whispering  trees, 
And  rustling,  far-off  waters  of  my  heart! 
O  for  the  mystic  night  risen  within  me! 
The  multitudinous  life,  the  busy  sounds 
Of  woven  love,  the  hushed  and  pouring  love, 
The  pouring  love  and  stillness  of  the  night! 


236  THE   FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  1 1 

DEUKALION. 
Wife,  wife,  what  falleth  since? 

PYRRHA. 

A  stir  of  joy 

Troubles  the  fields  of  air  'twixt  star  and  star. 
Across  the  quivering  acres,  by  and  large, 
An  unimaginable  Reaper  goes, 
And  where  he  walks  the  heavens  are  seldom-sown ; 
Till  o'er  wan  earth  the   spreaded  heavens   are 

bare, 

Save  for  one  mighty  star  that  gathers  light 
And  stands  like  a  flushed  singer  telling  glory. 
Now  he,  now  even  he  has  no  dominion, 
For  he  has  looked  behind  him  to  the  mountains, 
O,  he  has  looked  up  to  the  lovely  mountains 
Of  the  unimagined  morning,  and  has  hearkened 
The  pouring  of  the  chill,  eternal  urns! 
Over  the  solemn  world  grey  habitation 
Wonders  at  habitation.    Room  by  room, 
The  heavens  tremble  and  put  on  delight, 
Ignorant  one  to  another  why  it  is 
The  festal  wish  compels  them.    They  are  bright 
ened 
Under  the  feet  of  many  breathless  spirits, 


ACT  ii]         THE  FIRE-BRINGER  237 

Who,  lifting  up  their   hands   by   the   springs   of 

ocean, 

Cried  "Paean!"  and  "O,  Hymen!"  As  a  stream 
Silvereth  in  a  wind-start,  heaven  is  brightened 
Under  the  speed  and  striving  of  those  spirits,  - 
Who  now,  even  now  dissolve,  and  leave  behind 

them 

Only  their  gladness  and  their  speed ;  for  now 
Through  all  its  height  and  frame  of  living  light, 
Through  all  its  clear  creation,  breathing  depths 
And  fleeing  distances,  the  sacred  sky 
Pulses  and  is  astonished  like  a  heart; 
It  looketh  inward  and  bethinks  itself, 
Outward,  and  putteth  all  its  question  by, 
To  shine  and  soar  and  sing  and  be  at  one !  — 
Nearhand  the  slopes  drink  light,  and  far  about 
Among  the  mountain  places,  headlands,  cliffs, 
Lone  peaks,  and  brotherhoods  of  battlement 
Shout,  having  apprehended.  —  Paler  grow 
The  gulfs  of  shadowy  air  that  brim  the  vales; 
As  ocean  bateth  in  her  thousand  firths, 
The  grey  and  silver  air  draws  down  the  land. 
The  little  trees  that  climb  among  the  rocks 
As  high  as  they  can  live,  pierce  with  their  spires 
The  shoaling  mist,  swim  softly  into  light, 


238  THE  FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  1 1 

And  stand  apparent,  shapely,  every  one 
A  dream  of  divine  life,  a  miracle. 
Chasms  are  cloven  in  the  violet 
And  amethystine  waters  of  the  air; 
Forests  and  winding  rivers  of  the  plain 
Are  given  and  withdrawn;  a  moment  since 
I  saw,  I  thought  I  saw  a  strength  of  hill 
Uplifted  far  below  us,  built  upon 
With  what  was  once  a  lordly  place  of  souls, 
A  carved  and  marble  place  of  puissant  souls, 
Builded  to  such  strong  music  that  the  sea 
Had  hardly  heaved  one  lintel  from  its  post, 
Or  marred  one  face  of  all  the  sculptured  men, 
Or  shaken  from  his  seat  one  musing  god.  - 
Again  the  air  is  cloven ;  I  have  seen 
Fane-crowned  promontories,  curving  sweeps 
Of  silver  shore,  islands,  and  straits,  and  bays; 
And  bright  beyond,  the  myriad  ocean  stream. 
And  O,  beyond  —  beyond!  —  O  shelter  me! 
Bow  down !   Cover  your  eyes ! 

CONFUSED  VOICES. 

Terrible  wings !  — 

Light  awfuller  than  darkness  or  the  sea!  - 
O  spirit  of  sharp  flame  amid  the  burning! 


ACT  n]        THE   FIRE-BRINGER  239 

A  BOY'S  VOICE. 

My  hands  are  on  my  eyelids,  and  my  knees 
Shelter  my  face.    O  mother,  lay  thy  breast 
About  me,  and  shut  out  the  killing  light, 
Before  my  eyeballs  and  my  brain  be  dead! 

DEUKALION. 

On  his  knees,  with  outstretched  hands. 

Of  late  mine  eyes  were  quenched,  and  now  I  see. 

PYRRHA. 

Thine  eyelids  are  not  open,  but  thy  face 
Searcheth  into  the  radiance.    Father,  cease! 
Look  not  upon  it  with  thy  soul.   Thy  face 
Is  terrible  with  beauty  in  the  light. 
I  cannot  look  upon  thy  seeing  face. 
Take  not  the  mortal  glory  on  thy  face! 
Bow  down  —  O  let  me  shield  thy  sightless  eyes ! 

DEUKALION. 

Burning  is  laid  unto  the  roots  of  the  world; 
The  deep  spouts  conflagration  from  her  springs ; 
And  fire  feeds  on  the  air  that  feeds  the  stars. 
Out  of  the  sea  has  burst,  from  rended  deeps 
Of  the  unthought-on  rearward  has  leapt  out 


240  THE   FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  1 1 

The  appearance  of  the  glory  of  the  sun, 
Filling  the  one  side  of  the  roaring  world 
With  creatures  and  with  branch-work  of  pale  fire; 
And  through  the  woods  of  fire  the  beasts  of  fire, 
The  birds  and  serpents  and  the  naked  souls 
Flee,  that  their  fleeing  startles  the  slow  dead 
Through   all   their  patient    kingdoms,   and  the 

gods 
In  their  faint  spheres  are  flown  and  passionate. 

A  MAN'S  VOICE. 

My  soul  is  among  lions.    God,  my  God, 
Thou  see'st  my  quivering  spirit  what  it  is! 
O  lay  not  life  upon  it!   We  not  knew 
The  thing  we  asked  for.   We  had  all  forgot 
How  cruel  was  thy  splendor  in  the  house 
Of  sense,  how  awful  in  the  house  of  thought, 
How  far  unbearable  in  the  wild  house 
That  thou  hast  cast  and  builded  for  the  heart! 

LYKOPHON. 
Deukalion,  speak  again! 

PYRRHA. 

If  yet  thy  flesh 
Endure  to  look  upon  it,  speak  again. 


ACT  II]         THE   FIRE-BRINGER  241 

DEUKALION. 

His  soul  is  strong  and  will  deliver  him! 
The  feature  of  his  anguish  and  his  joy 
Makes  dim  the  light  adjacent,  and  his  soul 
Is  bright  to  overcome.    He  treads  the  glory 
Over  against  the  roaring,  hitherward. 
Seeing  the  taper  of  small  excellent  light 
He  lifteth  in  his  hand,  the  night  rolls  on 
Before  him,  and  day  follows  after  him. 
The  hours,  the  months,  the  seasons,  and  the  times 
Acknowledge  him ;  the  w^ste  calls  to  the  sown ; 
The  islands  and  hoar  places  of  the  sea 
Sing,  as  the  chief  of  them  that  are  taught  praises. 
About  his  torch  shineth  a  dust  of  souls, 
Daughters  and  sons,  who  fly  into  the  light 
With  trembling,  and  emerge  with  prophecy; 
And  round  about  goeth  a  wind  of  tongues, 
A  wind  as  of  the  travailing  of  the  nations ; 
Vast  sorrow,  and  the  cry  of  desperate  lives 
To  God,  and  God  to  them  crying  or  answering.  - 
Child!   ^Eolus!    My  child.    Where  is  my  child? 

PYRRHA. 

I  cannot  see;  the  dazzle  of  his  coming 
Makes  blind  the  place.  Here,  father,  in  thy  knees! 


242  THE  FIRE-BRINGER       [ACT  n 

Feel,  't  is  the  darling  head!  Wild  comer,  when? 
Hasten,  have  pity,  we  are  nothing  strong! 
Father,  how  is  't  with  thee?    Why  bow'st  thou 

down  ? 

Thy  hand  is  cold,  thy  lips  are  very  cold.  - 
O  gone,  O  gone,  even  at  the  entering-in! 

A  VOICE. 

Who  are  these  coming  down,  that  they  are  mighty 
To  walk  with  foreheads  forward  to  the  light, 
Singing  the  mortal  radiance  to  its  face? 

A  VOICE. 

It  is  Pandora  and  the  unborn  men, 
Deukalion's  seed.    She  doth  it  of  her  power, 
They  of  their  weakness. 

PANDORA. 
Sings,  invisible  in  the  light. 

Ye  who  from  the  stone  and  clay 
Unto  godhood  grope  your  way, 
Hastening  up  the  morning  see 
Yonder  One  in  trinity! 

THE  EARTH  WOMEN. 
Save  us,  flaming  Three! 


ACT  II]         THE   FIRE-BRINGER  243 

PANDORA. 

Dionysus  hath  the  wine, 
Eros  hath  the  rose  divine, 
Lord  Apollo  hath  the  lyre: 
Three  and  one  is  the  soul's  desire. 

THE  STONE  MEN. 
Save  us,  sons  of  fire! 

A  WOMAN'S  VOICE. 

Listen,  they  have  passed. 
They  go  with  singing  forward  down  the  light. 

PROMETHEUS. 
Below,  invisible. 
Thou  gavest  me  the  vessel ;  it  is  filled. 

PANDORA. 

I  am  the  vessel,  and  with  thee  't  is  filled. 
Pause. 

LYKOPHON. 

Whispers. 

Pyrrha! 

PYRRHA. 
Who  whispers  me? 


244  THE   FIRE-BRINGER         [ACT  II 

LYKOPHON. 

Is  he  not  come? 
Is  he  not  busied  by  the  altar  there? 

PYRRHA. 

Nay  —  Lo,  the  terrible  taper!   It  is  he! 
I  see  him  not;  my  spirit  seeth  him; 
My  heart  acheth  upon  him  busied  there. 
-  Deukalion,  O  Deukalion ! 

PROMETHEUS. 
From  the  altar. 

Pyrrha!  Pyrrha! 

PYRRHA. 
Prometheus,  saviour! 

PROMETHEUS. 
Lykophon ! 

LYKOPHON. 

Lo,  me! 

PROMETHEUS. 
Bring  me  your  children  hither. 

PYRRHA  AND  LYKOPHON. 
Groping  forward  with  ALolus  and  Alcyone. 

Here  are  they! 


ACT  ii]         THE   FIRE-BRINGER  245 

PROMETHEUS. 

Unto  this  twain,  man-child  and  woman-child, 
I  give  the  passion  of  this  element; 
This  seed  of  longing,  substance  of  this  love; 
This  power,  this  purity,  this  annihilation. 
Let  their  hands  light  the  altar  of  the  world. 
'T  is  yours  forever.    I  have  brought  it  home! 

The  radiant  mist  fades ;  it  is  clear  day,  flooded  with 
morning  sunlight.  The  children  apply  the  burning 
reed  to  the  fuel,  and  fire  flames  high  upon  the  altar. 
Pandora  s  voice  is  heard  faintly,  far  below. 

i 

PANDORA. 

Too  jar,  too  far,  though  hidden  in  thine  arms; 
Too  darkly  far,  though  lips  on  lips  are  laid! 
Love,  love,  I  am  afraid; 
I  know  not  where  to  find  thee  in  these  storms 
That  dashed  thy  changed  breast  my  breast  upon, 
Here  in  the  estranging  dawn. 
Unsteadfast!  who  didst  call  and  hast  not  stayed. 
Tryst-breaker!  I  have  heard 
Thy  voice  in  the  green  wood,  and  not  deferred:  — 
0  fold  me  closer,  fugitive  one,  and  say  where  thou 
art  gone! 


246  THE   FIRE-BRINGER        [ACT  1 1 

Nay,  speak  not,  strive  not,  sorrow  not  at  all! 

0,  dim  and  gradual!  - 

Beloved,  my  beloved,  shall  it  be? 

Keep  me,  keep  me  with  thy  kiss, 

Save  me  with  thy  deep  embrace; 

For  down  the  gulfs  of  spirit  space, 

The  slow,  the  implacable  winds,  now  unes capably 

Wheel  us  downward  to  our  bliss, 

Whelm  us,  darken  us  —  0  lethal  winds!  —  down  to 
our  destined  place. 

Swimming  faint,  beneath,  afar  — 

0  lover,  let  there  be 

No  haste,  nor  clamor  of  thy  heart'to  see! 

But  I  have  seen,  and  I  whisper  thee 

How  the  rivers  of  peace  apparent  are, 

And  the  city  of  bridal  peace 

Waits,  and  wavers,  and  hardly  is, 

Fades,  and  is  folded  away  from  sight; 

And  now  like  a  lily  it  openeth  wistfully, 

Whispering  through  its  courts  of  light 

' '  How  long  shall  we  be  denied? 

How  long  must  the  eastern  gate  stand  wide, 

Ere  these  who  are  called  shall  enter  in,  and  the  bride 
groom  be  with  the  bride?" 


ACT   III 

An  open  rocky  place  higher  in  the  mountains;  in  the 
rock-wall  at  one  side  is  a  rough-hewn  open  tomb  ;  in 
the  rear  the  stranded  ark  of  Deukalion,  caught  amid 
great  rocks,  is  outlined  against  snow-peaks  and 
against  a  vast  sunset  cloud,  full  of  shifting  light. 
The  funeral  train  of  Deukalion  winds  up  the  steep 
path  from  below.  Lykophon  and  a  company  of  grown 
men  carry  the  bier,  beside  which  walk  Pyrrha  and 
jEolus. 

CHORUS  OF  OLD  MEN. 
In  one  same  breath 
Uttering  life  and  death, 
Whatso  his  mouth  seems  darkly  to  ordain 
The  darkling  signal  of  his  hand  makes  vain, 
And  like  a  heart  confused  He  sayeth  and  gain- 

saith. 

With  himself  He  wrestles  thus 
Or  gives  this  wrestling  unto  us. 
Whichever,  it  is  well. 
O  children,  we  are  risen  out  of  hell, 
And  it  is  pleasant  evening!   Daughters,  sing! 


248  THE  FIRE-BRINGER        [ACT  in 

Upon  his  way  let  soft  and  golden  mirth 
Be  spoken  round  the  king, 

And  unto  heaven  be  told  the  sweetness  of  the 
earth. 

CHORUS  OF  GIRLS. 

How  shall  the  thought  of  our  hearts  be  said, 

Here,  where  this  averted  head 

Lonely  walks  by  the  lonely  dead? 

'T  were  better  others  sang, 

Not  we,  not  we! 

For  when  the  mighty  morning  sprang 

Terrible  in  gladness  from  the  sea, 

When,  entering  the  high  places  of  the  air, 

Noontide  unbelievably 

Possessed  them,  and  lifted  up  his  trophy  there,  — 

Yea,  all  the  noon  and  all  the  afternoon, 

We  could  have  put  our  secret  by,  we  could  have 

spoken 

Well  before  thee,  O  mourner,  O  heart  broken! 
But  now,  but  now  —  Mother,  mother, 
We  have  seen  one  coming  with  thee  up  the  steep ; 
His  mild  great  wing  we  saw  him  keep 
Over  thee  like  a  sheltering  arm, 
And  the  shadow  of  one  pinion  fell  across 


ACT  in]       THE   FIRE-BRINGER  249 

To  shield  the  bosom  of  thy  lord  from  harm ; 

We  have  seen  him,  the  dark  peace-giver,  Thana- 
tos;- 

But  O,  we  have  seen  also  another, 

Winged  like  him,  and  dazzling  dim, 

He  came  up  out  of  the  sun,  yet  he  goeth  not  down 
therewith ; 

For,  ever  warmer,  closer,  as  the  evening  falleth 
pale, 

His  arm  is  over  our  necks,  and  his  breath 

Searches  whispering  under  our  hair ;  and  his  burn 
ing  whisper  saith 

A  thing  that  maketh  the  heart  to  cease  and  the 
limbs  to  fail, 

And  the  hands  to  grope  for  they  know  not  what; 

We  would  not  find  what  he  whispers  of,  and  we 
die  if  we  find  it  not! 

CHORUS  OF  YOUNG  WOMEN. 
Ere  our  mothers  gave  us  birth, 
Or  in  the  morning  of  the  earth 
The  high  gods  walked  with  the  daughters  and 

found  them  fair, 
Ere  ever  the  hills  were  piled  or  the  seas  were 

spread, 


250  THE  FIRE-BRINGER        [ACT  HI 

His  arm  was  over  our  necks,  my  sisters,  his  breath 

was  under  our  hair! 

Their  spirits  withered  and  died  who  then 
Found  not  the  thing  that  his  whisper  said, 
But  we  are  the  living,  the  chosen  of  life,  who  found 

it  and  found  it  again. 
Where,  walking  secret  in  the  flame, 
Unbearably  the  Titan  came, 
Eros,  Eros,  yet  we  knew  thee, 
Yet  we  saw  and  cried  unto  thee! 
Where  thy  face  amid  exceeding  day  more  excel 
lently  shone 
There  our  still  hearts  laughed  upon  thee,  thou 

divine  despaired-of  one! 
Though  o'er  and  o'er  our  eyes  and  ears  the  heavy 

hair  was  wound, 

Yet  we  saw  thee,  yet  we  heard  thy  pinions  beat ! 
Though  our  fore-arms  hid  our  faces  and  our  brows 

were  on  the  ground, 
Yet,  O  Eros,  we  declare 
That  with  flutes  and  timbrels  meet, 
Whirling  garments,  drunken  feet, 
With  tears  and  throes  our  souls  arose  and  danced 

before  thee  there! 
They  place  the  body  in  the  hewn  vault  of  the  rock. 


ACT  in]       THE   FIRE-BRINGER  251 

PYRRHA. 

Go  down  now.    I  and  ^Eolus  will  watch 
Till  dawn,  when  ye  will  come  to  shut  the  tomb 
And  sing  him  to  his  peace. 

LYKOPHON. 

Some  few  with  thee 
Will  hold  the  watch,  for  safety. 

PYRRHA. 

None.  Alone. 

The  others  go  down  the  path,  leaving  Pyrrha  and 
j&olus  seated  by  the  tomb  ;  a  girl  lingers  behind,  and 
when  the  last  figure  has  disappeared,  throws  herself 
at  Pyrrha  s  feet. 

RHODOPE. 

See,  it  is  Rhodope,  thy  handmaiden! 
Behold,  thou  knowest.   He  loved  her.   She  would 
stay. 

PYRRHA. 

Touching  her  head. 

Thy  heart  shall  take  no  fear.    O,  stay  with  us! 
The  voices  of  the  young  men  are  heard,  descending. 

CHORUS  OF  YOUNG  MEN. 
When,  to  the  king's  'unveiled  eyes 
The  rended  deeps  and  the  rended  skies 


252  THE  FIRE-BRINGER       [ACT  in 

Seemed  as  a  burning  wood,  - 

lacchos!   lacchos! 

When  flame  took  hold  of  the  place  of  the  dead, 

And  burning  seized  on  the  throne  of  God, 

And  birds  and  beasts  and  the  souls  of  men 

As  a  wind  of  burning  fled,  - 

lacchos! 

Yea,  in  the  blinding  radiance  when 

The  Bringer  of  Light  by  the  altar  stood, 

lacchos!   lacchos!   Evoe! 

We   saw   thee,   we   knew   thee,   we   cried   upon 

thee! 

We  had  lost  thee  and  had  thee  again! 
Plucker  of  the  tragic  fruit, 
Eater  of  the  frantic  root, 
Shaker  of  the  cones  of  raving,  sounder  of  the 

panic  flute 
Over  man  and  brute, 
lacchos ! 

Hunter  in  the  burning  wood, 
Planter  of  the  mystic  vine, 
From  the  spirit  and  the  blood 
Crusher  of  the  awful  wine, 
I  acchos !   Evoe !   I  acchos ! 
The  voice  dies  away  in  the  distance.  Silence. 


ACT  in]        THE  FIRE-BRINGER  253 


Whispers  to  Rhodope. 
See'stthou?   The  cloud! 
Touching  Pyrrha. 

Mother,  what  means  the  cloud? 

PYRRHA. 

Raising  her  head. 

How,  child? 

/EOLUS. 

The  cloud.   See  how  it  lives  within  ! 

PYRRHA. 

'T  will  rain  ;  he  brought  us  back  the  blessed  rain, 
And  storm,  and  natural  darkness,  with  the  light. 
Bows  her  head  again. 
As  also  to  our  hearts  the  shutting-in 
Of  rain  and  natural  darkness. 

RHODOPE. 
Looking  up  from  Pyrrha  's  knees. 

All  the  hours 

Since  long  ago  at  dawn,  the  livelong  hours 
Of  glory,  sincere  brought  the  morning  back, 
The  cloud  has  piled  itself,  and  wondrous  lights 
Have  been  thus  restless  in  it. 


254  THE  FIRE-BRINGER       [ACT  HI 

^LOLUS. 

Where  is  he? 
PYRRHA. 

I  know  not,  child.    It  may  be  that  he  sleeps, 
Being  weary ;  or  he  wanders  with  his  love 
To  gaze  upon  the  gladness  of  the  world. 

RHODOPE. 

No  one  has  seen  him  since  he  fetched  the  light. 
They  say  of  him  —  I  heard  the  old  men  say  - 

PYRRHA. 

The  sun  goes  down :  we  will  be  silent  now. 
Silence.    ^Eolus  and  R  ho  dope,  leaning  together,  fall 

asleep.     Pyrrha    kneels    by    the    tomb,   with  hands 

stretched  aloft  upon  the  kings  breast. 

PYRRHA. 

Speaks  low. 

Thou  whom  my  glad  heart  once  deliberately 
Chose,  and  this  morning  suddenly  with  tears 
Chose,  and  was  chosen,  and  was  made  thine  at 

last 

In  the  destroying  light  —  Deukalion^  lord, 
The  day  is  past,  the  evening  cometh  on. 
Once  more  to  thy  full-wishing  lips  I  hold 


ACT  ill]        THE   FIRE-BRINGER  255 

The  chalice  of  my  heart  up,  husband!  husband! 
For  night  begins  to  pour  her  voices  out, 
And  thou  art  stayed  for  on  the  voiceless  hills. 
She  lifts  her  head  and  listens.    In  the  distance  Pan 
dora  s  voice  is  heard,  sharp  and  agonized. 

PYRRHA. 

For  thee  too,  then!   Even  also  for  thee 
He  smote  the  rock;  thy  spirit  thirsted  too 
Afar  there  in  the  desert  of  thy  joy, 
And  came  and  drank  against  the  morning  ray 
Waters  of  trembling.    By  the  pools  in  haste 
Thy  soul  stooped,  plucking  herb  and  flower  of 

pain 
That  groweth  newly  there,  by  the  new  stream ! 

RHODOPE. 

Runs  with  sEohis,  and  crouches  beside  Pyrrha. 
Pyrrha!   Mother  Pyrrha!   Look,  alas, 
Lo,  how  it  comes  upon  us !  The  bird !  The  bird ! 

PYRRHA. 
What  —  where?      How  suddenly  has  darkness 

fallen, 

And  now  as  suddenly  't  is  light  again! 
How  terribly  the  lion  thunder  roared 


256  THE  FIRE-BRINGER       [ACT  in 

Leaping  along  the  mountains  to  the  sea! 
-  What  saw  ye?   What  went  by  us  in  the  wind? 

RHODOPE. 
Look  where  the  giant  wings  rock  down  the  slope ! 

PYRRHA. 

Gazing  below. 

Go^sJ^kcLoL wrath!  Swift  is  thy  wrath,  O  God, 
Strong  i$- thy  jealousy! 

RHODOPE. 

Awhile  I  slept; 

Then  as  I  looked  and  wondered  at  the  cloud, 
The  restless  lights  flushed  angry,  and  all  the  west 
Shone  stormy  bright  with  ridges  of  blown  fire. 
The  cloud  flamed  like  a  peak  of  the  fiery  isles, 
Where  in  the  western  seas  Hephaestos  toils. 
Then  from  yon  cloven  valley  in  the  midst 
Came  forth  the  wings  and  shadow  of  the  bird, 
And  grew  towards  us  vaster  than  storm,  more 

swift 

Than  I  could  cry  upon  him,  and  passed  down. 
Once  o'er  the  plain  and  o'er  the  ocean  straits, 
And  twice  o'er  the  old  olives  by  the  stream 
Where  the  folk  rest  to-night,  his  shadow  wheeled, 


ACT  in]        THE   FIRE-BRINGER  257 

And  now  he  towers  straight  upward  like  a  smoke, 

High,  high,  into  the  evening. 

Pandora  s  cry  is  heard  again  ;  she  appears  in  the  rocks 
above  the  tomb,  gazing  upward.  After  a  moment  she 
comes  down  and  kneels  beside  Pyrrha,  hiding  her 
face  against  the  rocks.  Pause. 

PYRRHA. 

In  a  low  voice,  gazing  at  the  cloud. 

Deemest  thou 

That  he  will  yield  himself  unmurmuring  up, 

Or  will  he  make  wild  war  along  the  peaks? 

Prometheus  enters  swiftly  from  below,  and  raises  Pan 
dora.  They  stand  clasped  in  each  other  s  arms  beside 
Pyrrha,  who,  still  kneeling,  draws  herself  up  to  gaze 
into  the  king  s  face,  then  clasps  dEolus  with  one  arm 
and  with  the  other  the  knees  of  Prometheus. 

PYRRHA. 

Leave  us  not  yet,  before  another  dawn 
Comes,  bringing  surety!    For  the  giant  dark, 
Seeing  thee  absent,  may  arise  again, 
And  Python  lift  unnameably  his  head 
In  hell,  hearing  the  gods  hiss  him  awake. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Be  comforted;  it is „  established  .sure. 
Light  shall  arise  from  light,  day  follow  day, 


258  THE   FIRE-BRINGER       [ACT  in 

Season  meet  season,  with  all  lovely  signs 
And  portents  of  the  year.   These  shall  not  fail ; 
From  their  appointed  dance  no  star  shall  swerve, 
Nor  mar  one  accent  of  one  whirling  strophe 
Of  that  unfathomed  chorus  that  they  sing 
Within  the  porch  and  laughing  house  of  Life, 
Which    Time    and    Space   and    Change,    bright 

caryatids, 

Do  meanwhile  pillar  up.  These  shall  not  fail ; 
But  O,  these  were  the  least  I  brought  you  home ! 
The  sun  whose  rising  and  whose  going  down 
Are  joy  and  grief  and  wonder  in  the  heart; 
The  moon  whose  tides  are  passion,  thought,  and 

will; 

The  signs  and  portents  of  the  spirit  year,  - 
For  these,  if  you  would  keep  them,  you  must  strive 
Morning  and  night  againsL.the.4ealous  gods 
With  anger,  and  with  laughter,  and  with  love; 
And  no  man  hath  them  till  he  brings  them  down 
With   love,    and    rage,    and    laughter   from    the 

heavens,  - 

Himself  the  heavens,  himself  the  scornful  gods, 
The  sun,  the  sun-thief,  and  the  flaming  reed 
That  kindles  new  the  beauty  of  the  world. 
He  draws  ^Eolus  and  Rhodope  to  him. 


ACT  in]       THE   FIRE-BRINGER  259 

For  you  the  moon  stilly  imagineth 

Her  loiterings  and  her  soft  vicissitudes ; 

For  you  the  Pleiades  are  seven,  and  one 

Wanders  invisible  because  of  you ; 

For  you  the  snake  is  burnished  in  the  spring, 

The  flower  has  plots  touching  its  marriage  time, 

The  queen-bee  from  her  wassailed  lords  soars  high 

And  high  and  high  into  the  nuptial  blue, 

Till  only  one  heroic  lover  now 

Flies  with  her,  and  her  royal  wish  is  prone 

To  the  elected  one,  whose  dizzy  heart 

Presageth  him  of  ecstasy  and  death. 

For  you  the  sea  has  rivers  in  the  midst, 

And  fathomless  abysses  where  it  breeds 

Fantastic  life;  and  each  its  tiniest  drop 

Flung  from  the  fisher's  oar-blade  in  the  sun 

Has  rivers,  abysses,  and  fantastic  life. 

For  your  sakes  it  was  spoken  of  the  soul 

That  it  shall  be  a  sea  whereon  the  moon 

Has  might,  and  the  four  winds  shall  walk  upon 

it, - 

Also  it  has  great  rivers  in  the  midst, 
Uncharted  islands  that  no  sailor  sees, 
And  fathomless  abysses  where  it  breeds 
Mysterious  life;  yea,  each  its  tiniest  drop 


26o  THE  FIRE-BRINGER       [ACT  HI 

Flung  from  the  fisher's  oar-blade  in  the  sun 
Has  rivers,  tempests,  and  eternal  tides, 
Untouched-at  isles,  horizons  never  hailed, 
And  fathomless  abysses  where  it  breeds 
Incredible  life,  without  astonishment. 
He  bends  over  Deukalion. 

O  death,  majestic  mood!   Transfigured  brow 
And  eyes  heavy  with  vision,  since  the  time 

(.They  saw  creation  sitting  like  a  sphinx, 

(Woman  and  lion,  riddling  of  herself 
At  twilight,  in  the  place  of  parted  souls  - 
He  pauses,  looks  at  the  lighted  clojid,  and  below  at  the 
darkening  earth,  where  a  mist  is  beginning  to  rise. 

As  far  as  being  goes  out  past  the  stars 

Into  unthinkable  distance,  and  as  far 

As  being  inward  goes  unthinkably, 

Traveling  the  atom  to  its  fleeing  core, 

Through  world  in  world,  heaven  beneath  wheeling 

heaven, 

Firmament  under  firmament,  without  end,  — 
To-day  there  is  rejoicing,  and  the  folk, 
Though  ignorant,  call  us  blessed  in  their  hearts. 
Yea,  He  who  is  the  Life  of  all  this  life, 
Death  of  this  death  and  Riser  from  this  death, 
Calleth  us  blessed  in  his  heart  of  hearts; 


ACT  in]        THE   FIRE-BRINGER  261 

And  once  again,  in  the  dim  end  of  things, 

When  the  sun  sickens,  and  the  heaven  of  heavens 

Flames  as  a  frosty  leaf  unto  the  fall, 

In  swoon  and  anguish  shall  his  stormed  heart 

Cry  unto  us;  his  cry  is  ringing  there 

In  the  sun's  core!   I  heard  it  when  I  stood 

Where  all  things  past  and  present  and  to  come 

Ray  out  in  fiery  patterns,  fading,  changing, 

Forevermore  unfaded  and  unchanged. 

AEOLUS. 

Behold,  alas,  mother,  look  up! 

O  haste,  let  us  be  hidden  in  the  rocks! 

PYRRHA. 

The  wings  that  were  a  little  cloud  in  heaven 
Shed  doom  over  the  third  part  of  the  north ; 
And  now  he  slants  enormous  down  the  west 
Toward  his  throne  and  eyrie  in  the  cloud. 
In  the  background,  about  the  ark  of  Deukalion,  the  fig 
ures  of  the  Stone  Men  and  Earth    Women  emerge, 
and  stand  darkly  outlined  against  the  sunset  cloud. 
Prometheus  speaks  low  to  Pandora,  who  falls  at  his 
feet. 

PANDORA. 
I  would  be  there  with  thee,  love.   O,  not  here! 


262  THE  FIRE-BRINGER       [ACT  in 

PROMETHEUS. 

Stooping  over  her. 

There  where  I  go  thou  art;  there,  even  now 
Thou  cried'st  me  to  thee,  and  I  come,  I  come. 
He  lays  her  in  PyrrJias  arms,  and  disappears  in  the 

rocks  ;  he  emerges  on  a  higher  level  behind,  and  turns 

westward. 

Pausing  beside  the  ark. 

0  rude  and  dazed  spirits !   Ye  shall  grope 
And  wonder  toward  a  knowledge  and  a  grace 
That  now  we  dream  not  of;  then  loneliness 
Shall  flee  away,  and  enmity  no  more 

Be  spectral  in  the  houses  and  the  streets 
Where  walk  your  primal  hearts  in  the  large  light 
That  floods  the  after-earth. 
He  raises  his  arms  over  them. 

Out  of  these  stones 

1  build  my  rumoring  city,  based  deep 
On  elemental  silence;  in  this  soil 

I  plant  my  cool  vine  and  my  shady  tree, 
Whose  roots  shall  feed  upon  the  central  fire ! 
He  crosses  a  rocky  stretch  leading  to  the  western  heights 
over  which  the  cloud  rests,  and  disappears  in  a  mist- 
filled  pass.  j^Eolus  and  Rhodope  creep  closer  to  Pyrrha 
and  Pandora,  sheltering  themselves  from  the  chill  of 
the  rising  mist,  which  slowly  covers  the  scene.   There 
is  a  long  silence,  broken  by  faint  peals  of  thunder. 


ACT  in]       THE   FIRE-BRINGER  263 

AEOLUS. 

Whispers. 

Mother,  the  mist  was  grey  and  thick  to  breathe 
But  now;  and  now  't  is  thin,  and  flushes  red 
As  if  all  round  the  forests  were  aflame. 

RHODOPE. 

Whispers. 

Hush !   See'st  thou  not  it  is  the  mighty  cloud, 
That  flames  more  fiery  when  the  thunder  speaks, 

Heavy  thunder;  Pandora  starts  wildly  up, 

PYRRHA. 

Drawing  her  down. 

Thou  spirit  bird,  that  sangest  all  night  long 
And  mad'st  sweet  utterance  from  the  secret  shade 
Where  his  wild  heart  spread  coolness  in  the  sun, 
For  thee  to  flit  and  sing,  —  O  look  not  out ! 
Still  hide  thee  in  my  breast! 
Pandora  sinks  back.  Pyrrha  whispers  to  Rhodope. 

Rise  thou,  and  look! 

RHODOPE. 

Rises  and  speaks  in  a  low  voice. 
Over  against  the  region  where  he  went 
Thunder  has  torn  the  curtain  of  the  mist, 
And  out  of  moving  darkness  soars  the  cloud 


264  THE  FIRE-BRINGER       [ACT  in 

(Like  as  a  shadowed  ruby,  but  above 

/Like  as  an  opal  and  a  sardine  stone 
Sun- touched  to  the  panting  heart;  and  in  the 

midst 

Are  shapes  throned  on  the  moving  of  the  lights, 
Who  ride  the  wrathful  lights,  and  are  the  lights. 
Up  through  the  driving  fringes  of  the  mist 
Battle  a  living  splendor  and  a  gloom. 
O,  while  the  shapes  gather  and  wait  at  gaze, 
That  pharos  of  our  peril  in  the  straits, 
That  treader  of  the  cups  of  gladness  out 
In  the  sun's  vineyard  for  us  —  Mother!  Mother! 
Look  hither,  look  at  last,  for  it  is  time. 
Up  through  the  crud  and  substance  of  the  cloud 
Prometheus  wrestles,  with  the  bird  of J^od ! 
Pyrrha  rises,  lifting  Pandora. 

AEOLUS. 

Look  how  the  sudden  wind  has  quenched  the 

cloud, 

And  them  that  were  therein ;  and  how  its  blowing 
Shoulders  the  mist  away  from  the  keen  stars 
That  rushed  out  at  the  fading  of  the  lights! 
Look  you,  the  cloud  comes  on  us  in  the  wind ! 
It  tramples  down  the  mountains,  and  above 


ACT  in]        THE   FIRE-BRINGER  265 

Reaches  abroad  in  darkness,  blotting  out 
Place  upon  place  of  stars. 

RHODOPE. 

The  smoky  air 

Climbs  up  and  eddies  round  us  and  falls  down, 
Rolling  and  spreading  wider  than  the  world ! 
As  the  cloud  advances.  Pandora  goes  toward  it  ivith 
outstretched  hands,  and  pauses  beside  the  prow  of 
the  ark,  among  the  Stone  Men  and  Earth   Women, 
while  deeper  and  deeper  darkness  drifts  over   the 
scene.   The  voices  of  Pyrrha  and  Pandora  are  heard 
as  from  the  midst  of  the  cloud. 

PYRRHA. 

Vast  sorrow,  and  the  voice  of  broken  souls; 
A  cry  as  of  all  kinds  and  generations, 
Times,  places,  and  tongues;  or  as  a  mother 
Heareth  her  unborn  child  crying  for  birth. 

PANDORA. 
Sings. 

A  thousand,  ceous,  nailed  in  pain 
On  the  blown  world's  plunging  prow, 
That  seeks  across  the  eternal  main,  — 
Down  whatever  storms  we  drift, 
What  disastrous  headlands  lift, 


266  THE  FIRE-BRINGER       [ACT  in 

Festal  lips,  triumphant  brow, 
Light  us  with  thy  joy,  as  now! 

PYRRHA. 

A  sound  of  calling  and  of  answering; 
Answer  or  watch-cry  of  all  desperate  lives 
To  God,  and  God  to  them  calling  or  answering. 
The  Stone  Men  and  Earth   Women  sing,  their  voices 
growing  fainter  as  they  descend  the  valley  behind. 

THE  STONE  MEN  AND  EARTH  WOMEN. 

We  have  heard  the  valleys  groan 
With  one  voice  and  manifold; 
Stone  is  crying  unto  stone, 
Mould  is  whispering  unto  mould. 

THE  STONE  MEN. 
Hear  them  whisper,  hear  them  call, 
"All  for  one,  and  one  for  all, 
Dig  the  well  and  raise  the  wall" 

THE  EARTH  WOMEN. 

"For  the  nations  to  be  born, 
Root  away  the  bitter  thorn, 
Reap  and  sow  the  golden  corny 


ACT  III]        THE   FIRE-BRINGER  267 

RHODOPE. 
To  Pyrrha. 
Hear'st  thou  this  yet  that  thou  didst   whisper 

of, 

Or  is  all  silence  now  even  to  thee? 
Pyrrha  does  not  answer.  Pandora  s  voice  is  heard,  also 
from  the  valley  behind,  but  more  distant. 

PANDORA. 

Sings. 

I  stood  within  the  heart  of  God; 
It  seemed  a  place  that  I  had  known: 
(I  was  blood-sister  to  the  clod, 
Blood-brother  to  the  stone.) 

I  found  my  love  and  labor  there, 
My  house,  my  raiment,  meat  and  wine, 
My  ancient  rage,  my  old  despair,  — 
Yea,  all  things  that  were  mine. 

RHODOPE. 
To  ^Eolus. 

Doth  not  the  cloud  go  by  us?   Yonder,  see, 

A  star  looks  dimly  through.  And  there,  and  there 

'T  is  all  awake  with  stars ! 


268  THE  FIRE-BRINGER       [ACT  m 

PANDORA. 
Sings. 

I  saw  the  spring  and  summer  pass, 
The  trees  grow  bare,  and  winter  come; 
All  was  the  same  as  once  it  was 
Upon  my  hills  at  home. 

Then  suddenly  in  my  own  heart 
I  felt  God  walk  and  gaze  about; 
He  spoke;  his  words  seemed  held  apart 
With  gladness  and  with  doubt. 

''Here  is  my  meat  and  wine"  He  said, 
"My  love,  my  toil,  my  ancient  care; 

Here  is  my  cloak,  my  book,  my  bed, 

And  here  my  old  despair. 

"Here  are  my  seasons:  winter,  spring, 
Summer  the  same,  and  autumn  spills 
The  fruits  I  look  for;  everything 
As  on  my  heavenly  hills. 

RHODOPE. 

How  swiftly  now, 
As  if  it  had  a  meaning  in  its  haste, 
The  cloud-bank  fades  and  dwindles  in  the  north! 


ACT  in]       THE   FIRE-BRINGER  269 

Starlight  and  silence.  After  a  time,  dawn  begins  to 
break  in  the  east.  Pyrrha  rises  and  kneels  again  by 
the  tomb.  As  the  light  increases,  sEolus  and  Rhodope 
climb  higher  among  the  rocks  and  watch  for  the  ris 
ing  of  the  sun.  Below,  the  voices  of  the  young  men 
are  heard. 

CHORUS  OF  YOUNG  MEN. 
Ascending. 

One  large  last  star,  not  yet  persuaded  well, 

Expected  till  the  mountains  should  declare; 

But  from  his  hesitant  attitude, 

From  his  wild  and  waiting  mood, 

Wildly,  waitingly  there  came 

Over  sea  and  earth  and  air 

And  on  our  bended  hearts  there  fell 

Trembling  and  expectation  of  thy  name, 

Apollo ! 

Now  the  East  to  the  West  has  flung 

Sudden  hands  aloft,  and  sung 

Thy  titles,  and  thy  certain  coming-on; 

Wheeling  ever  to  the  right  hand,  wheeling  ever 

to  the  dawn, 

The  South  has  danced  before  the  North, 
And  the  text  of  her  talking  feet  is  the  news  of  thy 

going  forth, 
Apollo!  Apollo!  Apollo! 


270  THE   FIRE-BRINGER       [ACT  m 

When  radiance  hid  the  Titan's  face 

And  all  was  blind  in  the  altar  place, 

Then  we  knew  thee,  O  we  cried  upon  thee  then,  ' 

Apollo!  Apollo! 

Past  thee  Dionysus  swept, 

The  wings  of  Eros  stirred  and  slept, 

And  we  knew  not  the  mist  of  thy  song  from  the 

mist  of  the  fire, 
As  out  of  the  core  of  the  light  thy  lyre  laughed  and 

thundered  again! 

Eros,  how  sweet 

Is  the  cup  of  thy  drunkenness! 

Dionysus,  how  our  feet 

Hasten  to  the  burning  cup 

Thou  lif test  up ! 

But  O  how  sweetest  and  how  most  burning  it  is 

To  drink  of  the  wine  of  thy  lightsome  chalices, 

Apollo!   Apollo!   To-day 

We  say  we  will  follow  thee  and  put  all  others  away. 

For  thou  alone,  O  thou  alone  art  he 

Who  settest  the  prisoned  spirit  free, 

And  sometimes  leadest  the  rapt  soul. on 

Where  never  mortal  thought  has  gone; 

Till  by  the  ultimate  stream 


ACT  in]       THE   FIRE-BRINGER  271 

Of  vision  and  of  dream 
She  stands 

With  startled  eyes  and  outstretched  hands, 
Looking  where  other  suns  rise  over  other  lands, 
And  rends  the  lonely  skies  with  her  prophetic 
scream. 


THE    MASQUE    OF 
JUDGMENT 


To  E.  D.  S. 


THE  MASQUE  OF 
JUDGMENT 

PRELUDE 

The  action  falls  immediately  before  the  Incarnation. 

PERSONS    OF   THE   PRELUDE 

RAPHAEL 

URIEL 
THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE 

A  SHEPHERD 

A  SHEPHERD  BOY 

A  YOUNG  MAN  (persona  muta) 

A  GIRL 

SCENE   I 

A  meadow  and  coppice  near  the  sea  ;  beyond  low  hills 
the  roofs  of  a  town.  Dawn. 

RAPHAEL. 

Another  night  like  this  would  change  my  blood 
To  human:  the  soft  tumult  of  the  sea 
Under  the  moon,  the  panting  of  the  stars, 


276  THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT 

The  notes  of  querulous  love  from  pool  and  clod, 
In  earth  and  air  the  dreamy  under-hum 
Of  hived  hearts  swarming,  —  such  another  night 
Would  quite  unsphere  me  from  my  angelhood! 
Thrice  have  I   touched  my  lute's  least  human 

strings 
And  hushed  their  throbbing,  hearing  how  they 

spake 

Sheer  earthly,  they  that  once  so  heavenly  sang 
Above  the  pure  unclouded  psalmody. 
Sing  as  thou  wilt,  then,  since  thou  needs  must 

sing! 

For  ever  song  grows  dearer  as  I  walk 
These  evenings  of  large  sunset,  these  dumb  noons 
Vastly  suspended,  these  enormous  nights 
Through  which  earth  heaves  her  bulk  toward  the 

dawn. 

With  song  I  shelter  me,  who  else  were  left 
Defenseless  amid  God's  infinitudes, 
Bruised  by  the  unshod  trample  of  his  hours. 
He  sings. 

The  late  moon  would  not  stay, 
The  stars  grow  far  and  few; 
Into  her  house  of  day 
Hung  with  Sidonian  blue 


THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  277 

Stealeth  the  earth,  as  a  mcenad  girl 
Steals  to  her  home  when  the  orgies  are  o'er 
That  startled  the  glens  and  the  sleeping  shore. 
And  up  from  the  passionate  deeps  of  night 
Into  the  shallows  and  straits  of  light 
Softly  the  forests  whirl. 
Laugh,  earth!   For  thy  feigning-face  is  wise; 
There  is  naught  so  clear  as  thy  morning  eyes; 
And  the  sun  thy  lord  is  an  easy  lord! 
What  should  they  be  to  him,  — 
Thine  hours  of  dance  in  the  woodland  dim, 
The  brandished  torch  and  the  shouted  word, 
The  flight,  the  struggle,  the  honeyed  swoon 
'Neath  the  wild,  wild  lips  of  the  moon? 

Beyond  the  seaward  screen  of  hazel  boughs 
The  waves  flash  argent  'neath  the  clambering  light ; 
But  wherefore  do  these  wondrous  colors  run 
Out  of  the  place  of  morning?   The  young  leaves 
Are  swept  and  winnowed  upward  as  a  flame, 
And  in  their  whispering  glories  swiftly  dawns 
A  shape  of  lordly  wings,  each  plume  distinct 
With  dyes  auroral.   Where,  'mid  store  of  light, 
Most  spiritual  silver  burns,  a  face  comes  through. 
My  comrade  Uriel  cometh  from  the  sun! 


278   THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT 

URIEL. 

Appearing. 

Why  tarriest  on  thine  errand,  Raphael? 

RAPHAEL. 
I  do  no  errand  here. 

URIEL. 
Why  earnest  thou  then? 

RAPHAEL. 

Since  earth  is  dear  to  me.  Sometimes  it  seems  — 
Treading  the  prairie's  autumn  sibilance, 
Or  when  the  tongues  of  summer  lightning  speak 
In  the  corners  of  the  cloud  —  I  could  forget 
My  station  'mid  the  deathless  hierarchies, 
And  change  into  a  clot  of  anxious  clay. 

URIEL. 
Mock  not,  sweet  brother!     thou  who  knowest 

well  — 

Better  than  I  or  Michael  or  the  rest  - 
The  throes  that  shake  these  clots  of  passionate 

clay; 
Knowest  their  lewd  harsh  blood,  their  shell  of 

sense 
So  frail,  so  piteously  contrived  for  pain. 


THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    279 

RAPHAEL. 

I  dare  to  say  how  little  jest  it  was. 
Oft,  as  I  leave  these  sliding  shafts  of  dark, 
And  homeward  climb  the  immaterial  cliffs, 
My  heart  makes  question  which  were  worthier  state 
For  a  free  soul  to  choose,  —  angelic  calm, 
Angelic  vision,  ebbless,  increscent, 
Or  earth-life  with  its  Teachings  and  recoils, 
Its  lewd  harsh  blood  so  swift  to  change  and  flower 
At  the  least  touch  of  love,  its  shell  of  sense 
So  subtly  made  to  minister  them  delight, 
So  frail,  so  piteously  contrived  for  pain. 

URIEL. 

Brother,  thou  dost  not  well  to  wander  here. 
If  thou  wilt  roam,  choose  some  less  troubled  star. 
The  roaring  midst  of  the  insatiate  sun 
Where  God  has  set  my  watch,  is  peace  to  this! 
Of  all  the  bitter  drops  that  dewed  His  brow 
In  his  old  agony,  this  earth-drop  fell 
Most  bitter  salt,  and  ever  since  hath  been 
Fuller  of  travailing  than  other  worlds. 

RAPHAEL. 
Thy  speech  is  dark.    I  understand  it  not. 


280   THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT 

URIEL. 

Of  a  dark  thing  I  speak  a  few  dark  words. 

Put  from  thy  gaze  the  sweet  bloom  of  these  hills 

And  all  this  gorgeous  dapple  of  the  sea, 

And  let  thy  memory  stand  again  with  me 

On  Time's  untrodden  threshold,  that  first  day 

Which  searched  and  stung  our  immemorial  peace 

With  pangs  of  vernal  influence.    Heaven  rose 

As  if  from  sleep,  and,  lo,  through  all  the  void 

Clambered  and  curled  creation  like  a  vine, 

Hanging  the  dark  with  clusters  of  young  bloom. 

Then  from  the  viewless  ever-folded  heart 

Of  the  mystic  Rose,  stole  breath  and  pulse  of 

change, 

Delicious  pantings  such  as  seize  the  breast 
Of  lovers  when  the  love-tide  nears  its  flood, 
Yet  touched  with  endless  potency  of  pain, 
As  lips  of  mothers  when  their  anguish  ebbs 
And  leaves  the  waifling  life.  Then  first  the  Dove 
Began  to  mourn  above  the  mercy-seat, 
And  the  dear  sister  spirits  of  the  Lamps 
Bent  all  their  shimmering  wings  one  way  to  screen 
Their  wicks  from  the  wind-flaw.  Large  with  ques 
tion  turned 


THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    281 

Angelic  eyes  to  archangelic  eyes, 

Archangels  laid  changed  lips  to  the  ears  of  Thrones, 

Thrones  gazed  at  Dominations,  Powers  made  sign 

To  Principalities;  but  not  one  dared, 

Voicing  the  fear  that  filled  him,  to  cry,  "Lord, 

What  hast  Thou  brought  upon  Thy  kingdom, 

Thou 
Ancient  of  Days!"    Their  silence  was  right  well. 

RAPHAEL. 

All  this  the  meditative  spirits  oft 
Have  pondered.    But  thy  meaning  still  is  dark. 

URIEL. 
Ourselves  who  questioned  why  the  world  was 

made 

Were  born  of  the  same  questionable  seed, 
And  we  who  feared  were  the  first  cause  of  fear. 
Of  a  dark  thing  I  speak  a  few  dark  words. 
Of  old  the  mind  of  God,  coiled  on  itself 
In  contemplation  single  and  eterne, 
Felt  suddenly  a  stealing  wistfulness 
Sully  the  essence  of  his  old  content 
With  pangs  of  dim  division.    Long  He  strove 
Against  his  bosom's  deep  necessity, 


282    THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT 

Then,  groping  for  surcease,  put  forth  the  orbs 

Of  Paradise,  with  all  their  imagery, 

And  the  ordered  hierarchies  where  we  stand; 

Some  sharing  more  in  his  essential  calm, 

Some,  rebel  spirits,  banished  now  or  quelled, 

The  ill-starred  sons  of  his  disquietude,  - 

Disquietude  not  quenched  when  fell  the  pride 

Of  Lucifer,  long  bastioned  in  the  North. 

Demand  of  joy,  hardly  to  be  gainsaid, 

And  vast  necessity  of  grief,  still  worked 

Compulsive  in  his  breast:  our  essence  calm, 

Those  lucid  orbs  accordant,  could  not  bring 

Nepenthe  long.    His  hand  He  still,  withheld 

Ages  of  ages,  fearing  the  event, 

Till,  bathed  in  brighter  urge  and  wistfulness 

He  put  forth  suddenly  this  vine  of  Time 

And  hung  the  hollow  dark  with  passionate  change. 

RAPHAEL. 

I  think  for  me  Heaven  seemed  not  Heaven  till  then, 
When  from  our  seats  of  peace  we  could  behold 
The  strife  of  ripening  suns  and  withering  moons, 
Marching  of  ice-floes,  and  the  nameless  wars 
Of  monster  races  laboring  to  be  man ; 
When  we  could  hear  the  wrestle  of  hoarse  sound 


THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   283 

Hurl  gust  on  gust  obscurely  toward  the  time 
Of  disinvolved  music:  till  at  last, 
Standing  erect  amid  the  giant  fern  — 

URIEL. 

At  last!   At  last!   O  shaken  Breast,  nowhere 
Couldst  thou  find  quiet  save  in  putting  forth 
This  last  imagination?   Could  no  form 
Of  being  stanch  thee  in  thy  groping  thought 
Save  this  of  Man?   Puny  and  terrible; 
Apt  to  imagine  powers  beyond  himself 
In  wind  and  lightning;  cunning  to  evoke 
From  mould  and  flint-stone  the  surprising  fire, 
And  carve  the  heavy  hills  to  spiritual  shapes 
Of  town  and  temple;  nursing  in  his  veins 
More  restlessness  than  called  him  from  the  void, 
Perfidies,  hungers,  dreams,  idolatries, 
Pain,  laughter,  wonder,  anger,  sex,  and  song! 
% 

RAPHAEL. 

God  had  one  other  thought,  more  sweet,  more  dire ; 
Thy  latest  words  remind  thee. 
Behind  the  trees  a  girV  s  voice  sings. 

0  daughters  of  Jerusalem! 
What  said  ye  unto  her 


284    THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT 

Who  took  her  love  by  the  garment's  hem, 
Where  the  tanned  grape- gatherers  were? 
Did  any  go  down  and  see 
If  she  led  him  into  her  house? 
Or  was  it  aloft  where  the  wild  harts  flee, 
Was  it  high  in  the  hills,  'neath  the  cedar-tree, 
That  she  kissed  him  and  called  him  spouse? 
A  young  man  and  a  girl  come  over  the  hill  from  the 
town. 

URIEL. 

Unto  man 

Woman  was  due.   To  hearts  of  fire  more  fire, 
To  pride  of  strength  a  still  subduing  strength. 
As  they  pass  through  the  coppice,  the  girl  sings. 

0  keepers  of  the  city  walls! 
Have  ye  taken  her  veil  away, 
Whose  hasting  feet  and  low  love-calls 
Ye  heard  at  the  drop  of  day?  «, 

Have  ye  taken  her  ankle-rings, 
Who  is  fair,  who  hath  eyes  like  a  dove? 
Must  she  seek  her  lover,  her  king  of  kings, 
Naked,  stripped  of  her  costly  things? 
Must  she  have  no  garment  but  love? 


SCENE  II 

A  mountain  glade  and  forest.  Midnight. 

SHEPHERD. 

Here  stand,  if  thou  wilt  see,  by  this  great  bole. 
This  way  they  passed,  and  hither  should  return. 
But  pray  thee,  gentle  god,  when  they  draw  near 
Abate  the  splendor  of  thy  face,  fold  close 
Thine  eyed  and  irised  plumage.   God  thou  art, 
But  thou  must  needs  be  mighty  to  escape 
The  hill  girls  when  they  rage!    From  these  old 

boughs 

The  climbing  moon  will  soon  pour  deeper  shade 
To  screen  thee  more. 

RAPHAEL. 
How  looked  they  when  they  passed? 

SHEPHERD  BOY. 

Coney,  how  passed  the  hailstorm  o'er,  quotha! 
Patter!  patter!  't  was  sung  beneath  i'  the  dark. 
I  lost  a  birch  cup  full  of  whortleberries 
Scrambling  to  cover  when  I  heard  their  songs. 


286      THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT 

But  when  they  burst  across  the  glade,  I  peeped, 
And  saw  their  breasts  gleam  through  their  angry 

hair. 

Evoe!  they  had  snared  the  village  lad 
They  hanker  for  so  long.    I  hear  them  talk, 
Dawdling  on  well-curbs  with  their  water-skins 
Or  picking  the  May-apples. 

SHEPHERD. 

T  is  the  lad 

Who  sat  mute  at  the  merry  threshing-stead, 
Turned  from  their  orgies  in  the  sacred  wood 
With  large  bright  eyes  unamorous,  and  sang 
In  lonesome  places  piercing  lonesome  songs 
Of  other  lives  and  other  gods  than  theirs  — 
Perchance  of  thee  and  thy  bright-winged  mates, 
If  mates  be  thine,  for  god  thou  surely  art. 

SHEPHERD  BOY. 

To-night  they  have  him  limed !  Brow  of  the  hawk, 
Throat  of  the  hermit- thrush,  and  ring-dove  eyes! 

SHEPHERD. 

He  came  across  the  moon-drench  dragged  by  three 
Whose  bodies  shone  like  the  peeled  willow  wand ; 
The  little  snakes  they  knot  into  their  hair 


THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT      287 

Lipping  his  neck,  where  oozed  the  red  of  grapes 
From  his  crushed  garland ;  his  hands  flung  aloft 
To  the  symbol  of  their  fierce  licentious  god. 
His  eyes  were  large  and  fixed,  his  lips  apart, 
As  I  have  seen  him  in  the  lonesome  woods, 
But  madder  than  the  maddest  bacchant  there! 

RAPHAEL. 
Who  cometh  yonder? 

SHEPHERD. 
Where? 

RAPHAEL. 

Across  the  glade. 

SHEPHERD. 
I  see  nought. 

RAPHAEL. 

There,  behind  the  trailing  mist. 
The  moonlight  gathers  to  a  ghostly  shape, 
Unearthly  silver,  throbbing  like  a  heart! 
It  seems  a  beast  and  rider. 
The  shepherds  make  off. 

Ah,  I  know 

That  icy  influence,  and  the  voice  I  know, 
First  heard  in  Heaven  when  time  began  to  be,— 


288      THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT 

A  voice  above  our  voices,  and  a  hush 
Beneath  our  hush,  freezing  the  heart  with  fear, 
With  fear  the  heart  even  of  spirit-kind.  .  .  . 

THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE. 
Sings. 

The  scourge  of  the  wrath  of  God 

We  swing  and  we  stay: 

(Rest,  my  steed,  rest!) 

On  the  green  of  the  hill  we  have  trod, 

And  the  green  is  grey. 

.Ours  is  his  scourging  rod. 

Yea,  thy  hoofs  long  to  be  fleet 

On  the  armied  hills; 

(Yet  rest,  my  steed,  rest!) 

Scent  of  the  arrowy  sleet 

Broadens  thy  nostrils; 

The  mown  field  smelleth  sweet. 

God  giveth  his  loins1  increase 

Into  our  hand; 

(Rest,  my  steed,  rest!) 

We  shall  establish  his  peace 

By  sea  and  by  land. 

Soon  shall  their  troubling  cease! 


THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT      289 

RAPHAEL. 
What  makes  thine  errand  here? 

ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE. 

Still  as  of  old. 
RAPHAEL. 
I  think  thou  art  way- wandered.    Here  is  life. 

ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE. 
My  horse's  feet  err  not;  they  are  way- wise. 

RAPHAEL. 

Stand  by  me  in  the  shade  of  these  old  boughs, 
And  let  no  anger  fan  thy  wings  alight 
Or  flake  the  nostrils  of  thy  horse  with  fire 
When  the  young  bacchants  halloo  down  the  steep. 

ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE. 
Thou  feedest  thy  giddy  and  half-human  mind 
Still  on  these  little  spectacles  of  change, 
Forgetting  Heaven's  great  woes! 

RAPHAEL. 

What  woe  can  come 
Into  those  courts  of  old  beatitude? 


2QO      THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT 

ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE. 
Hast  thou  not  felt  its  presence  there? 

RAPHAEL. 

Yes  —  nay  — 

I  know  not  .  .  .  When  I  enter  Heaven  gate, 
Fear  comes  upon  me,  for  I  seem  to  feel 
Some  subtle  waning  of  accustomed  joy, 
Some  dying  off  of  music  —  thin,  minute, 
As  the  single  cricket  amid  chorusing  fields, 
Whose  ceasing  breaks  the  rapture.    Often,  too, 
Wan  faces  shun  me  in  the  woods  of  light 
And  voices  of  vague  dolor  die  away 
Along  the  living  lilies  as  I  come. 
But  this  I  held  a  phantasy  of  dream, 
Bred  of  too  earnest  looking  on  the  blight 
That  falls  on  mortal  things. 

ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE. 

It  is  no  dream; 

Though  more  mysterious,  more  dark  than  dream. 
Momently  fades  the  splendor,  momently 
Silence  and  dissonance  like  eating  moths 
Scatter  corruption  on  the  choiring  orbs. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    291 

RAPHAEL. 
No  one  declares  the  cause? 

ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE. 

The  cause  is  here, 

Here  in  the  vagrant  courses  of  the  moon, 
Who  makes  her  lair  and  wanders  for  her  love 
After  her  own  loose  law;  in  yonder  stars, 
Gay  spendthrifts  of  their  plentitude  of  fire; 
In  this  most  dissolute  earth,  who  decks  herself 
With  gorgeous  phantasy,  and  delicate  whim, 
And  paces  forth  before  the  worlds  to  dance 
A  maiden  measure,  modest  lids  downcast 
To  hide  her  harlot's  guile;  but  more  than  these, 
And  more  than  all,  unutterably  more, 
Here  in  the  wild  and  sinful  heart  of  man,  — 
Of  all  the  fruits  upon  creation's  vine 
The  thirstiest  one  to  drain  the  vital  breast 
Of  God,  wherein  it  grows. 

RAPHAEL. 

Too  fiery  sweet 

Gushes  the  liquor  from  the  vine  He  set, 
Man  the  broad  leaf  and  maid  the  honeyed  flower! 
The  shepherds  creep  back,  and  stand  peering  from  behind 
the  tree  at  the  angels. 


292     THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT 

RAPHAEL. 

Musing. 

What  if  they  rendered  up  their  wills  to  His? 
Hushed  and  subdued  their  personality? 
Became  as  members  of  the  living  tree? 

ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE. 
A  whisper  grows,  various  from  tongue  to  tongue, 
That  so  He  will  attempt.   Those  who  consent 
To  render  up  their  clamorous  wills  to  Him, 
To  merge  their  fretful  being  in  his  peace, 
He  will  accept:  the  rest  He  will  destroy. 
The  boy  whispers  to  Raphael. 

RAPHAEL. 
What  wilt  thou,  little  friend? 

SHEPHERD  BOY. 

Hither,  sweet  god! 
But  let  the  ghostly  centaur  stay  behind. 

SHEPHERD. 

Lean  o'er  this  rock  and  look  into  the  gorge. 
See  how  their  torches  dip  from  ledge  to  ledge. 
They  race  beside  some  shape  the  torrent  bears: 
The  eddies  seize  it  now,  and  leaning  out 
Over  the  pool  they  stop  to  howl  their  hymns, 


THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT      293 

And,  now  it  plunges,  how  they  madden  down 
With  laughter  keen  above  the  drumming  foam. 

RAPHAEL. 
Is  't  not  a  man's  torn  trunk? 

SHEPHERD  BOY. 

See  those  behind 

Grasping  the  antlers  of  the  lunging  stag, 
That  bellows  when  their  torches  bite  his  flanks ! 
I  know  the  witch  who  rides  him ! 

RAPHAEL. 

Come  away 

That  is  a  bleeding  head  she  holds  aloft 
Above  the  clutching  of  her  comrades'  hands! 

SHEPHERD  BOY. 

No  more  thou'lt  shun  their  orgies  in  the  wood, 
Throat  of  the  hermit- thrush  and  ring-dove  eyes! 
Throat  of  the  mourning  thrush,  thy  songs  are  done ; 
Sad  ring-dove  eyes,  the  lids  have  shut  you  in! 

SHEPHERD. 

That  is  his  harp  the  dancers  bear  before, 
Mocking  his  solemn  songs  of  other  gods 
And  other  lives  than  theirs. 


294      THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT 

RAPHAEL. 

Musing. 

Those  who  consent 
He  will  accept :  the  rest  He  will  destroy ! 

SHEPHERD  BOY. 
Look!  look!  the  ghostly  centaur  goeth  down. 


ACT  I 

Time :  as  in  the  Prelude 
PERSONS  OF  THE  MASQUE 

RAPHAEL  • 

URIEL 
MICHAEL 
AZAZIEL 

THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE 

THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  WHITE  HORSE 

THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  RED  HORSE 

SPIRITS  OF  THE  THRONE-LAMPS 

THE  LION  OF  THE  THRONE 

THE  EAGLE  OF  THE  THRONE 

THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  TREE  OF  KNOWLEDGE 

SPIRITS  OF  THE  SAVED 

SPIRITS  OF  THE  LOST 

MOON-SPIRITS 

VOICES 

SCENE   I. 

A  high  mountain  pass,  down  which  flows  a  brook, 
with  pools  and  waterfalls.  Early  morning. 

RAPHAEL. 

Climbing,  sings. 

On  earth  all  is  well,  all  is  well  on  the  sea; 
Though  the  day  breaks  dull 


296  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  i 

All  is  well. 

Ere  the  thunder  had  ceased  to  yell 

I  flew  through  the  wash  of  the  sea 

Wing  and  wing  with  my  brother  the  gull. 

On  the  crumbling  comb  of  the  swell, 

With  the  spindrift  slashing  to  lee, 

Poised  we; 

The  petrel  thought  us  asleep 

Till  sidewise  round  on  stiffened  wing, 

Keen  and  taut  to  take  the  swing 

With  the  glass-green  avalanches  in  their  swerving 

plunge  and  sweep, 
Down  the  glassy,  down  the  prone, 
Swift  as  swerving  thunder -stone, 
We  shot  the  green  crevasses 
And  we  hallooed  down  the  passes 
Of  the  deep. 

On  earth  all  is  well,  all  is  well. 
In  the  weeds  of  the  beach  lay  the  shell 
With  the  sleeper  within, 
And  the  pulse  of  the  sleeper  showed  through 
The  walls  of  his  delicate  house 
That  will  wake  with  the  sun  into  silver  and  purple 
and  blue. 


ACT.  I]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  297 

Where  the  creek  makes  out  and  the  sea  makes  in 

Between  the  low  cliff-brows 

Was  borne  the  talk  of  the  alder ed  linn 

Matching  the  meadow's  subtile  din; 

And  hark,  from  the  grey  high  overhead 

The  lark's  keen  joy  was  shed! 

For  what  though  the  morning  sulky  was 

And  the  punctual  sun  belated, 

His  nest  was  snug  in  the  tufted  grass, 

Soft-lined  and  stoutly  plaited, 

And  shine  sun  may  or  stay  away 

Nests  must  be  celebrated  ! 

Drowsy  with  dawn,  barely  asail, 

Buzzes  the  blue-bottle  over  the  shale, 

Scared  from  the  pool  by  the  leaping  trout; 

And  the  brood  of  turtlings  clamber  out 

On  the  log  by  their  oozy  house. 

Round  the  roots  of  the  cresses  and  stems  of  the 

ferns 

The  muskrat  goes  by  dddges  and  turns; 
Till  she  has  seized  her  prey  she  heeds  not  the  whine 

of  her  mouse. 
Lovingly,  spitefully,  each 
Kind  unto  kind  makes  speech; 


298  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  I 

Marriage  and  birth  and  war,  passion  and  hunger 

and  thirst. 
Song  and  plotting  and  dream,  as  it  was  meant  from 

the  first ! 

He  climbs  higher,  and  sings. 

Peering  in  the  dust  I  thought 
"  How  all  creatures,  small  and  great, 
For  his  pleasure  God  hath  wrought  I11 

When  I  saw  the  robins  mate 
Low  I  sang  unto  my  harp, 
11  Happy,  happy,  his  estate! 

"Down  curved  spaces  He  may  warp 
With  old  planets;  long  and  long, 
Where  the  snail  doth  tease  and  carp, 

"Asking  with  its  jellied  prong, 
A  whole  summer  He  ma$  bide, 
Wondrous  tiny  lives  among, 
Curious,  unsatisfied." 
Still  climbing. 

The  trees  grow  stunted  in  this  keener  air, 
And  scarce  the  hardiest  blossoms  dare  to  take 


ACT  I]   THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  299 

Assurance  from  the  sun.   Southward  the  rocks 
Boast  mosses  and  a  poor  increase  of  flowers, 
But  all  the  northern  shelters  hold  their  snow. 
Such  flowers  as  come,  come  not  quite  flower-like, 
But  smitten  from  their  gracious  habitudes 
By  some  alarm,  some  vast  and  voiceless  cry 
That  just  has  ceased  to  echo  ere  I  came. 
These  white  buds  stand  unnaturally  white, 
Breathing  no  odors  till  their  terror  pass; 
Those  grey  souls  toss  their  arms  into  the  wind, 
Peer  through  their  locks  with  bright  distracted 

eyes 

And  hug  the  elfin  horror  to  their  breasts  — 
Poor  brain- turned  gypsy  wildlings,  doomed  to 

birth 

In  this  uneasy  region!  .  .  .  Yonder  lift 
The  outposts  of  the  habitable  land. 
Ages  of  looking  on  the  scene  beyond 
Have  worn  the  granite  into  shapes  of  woe 
And  old  disaster. 

He  climbs  higher,  to  where  the  ravine  debouches  into 
the  Valley  of  the  Judgment. 

Each  time  when  I  stand 
Upon  the  borders  of  this  monstrous  place, 
I  still  must  question  wherefore  it  was  flung 


300  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  I 

Thus  ruinous  with  toppled  peak  and  scaur, 
Sheer  from  the  morning  cliffs  that  hold  up  Hea 
ven 

To  nether  caverns  where  no  foot  of  man 
Has  clambered  down,  nor  eye  of  angel  dared 
To  spy  upon  the  sluggish  denizens, 
If  any  dwell  so  deep.   What  giant  plow 
Harnessed  to  behemoth  and  mastodon 
Set  this  slope  furrow  down  the  side  of  the  world? 
And  to  what  harvest?  .  .  .  Here  the  sons  of  men, 
Living  and  dead  and  yet  unborn,  might  come 
Unto  the  final  judgment;  here  the  lost 
Might    make   one    desperate    stand.  .  .  .  What 

moveth  there? 

What  leonine  and  winged  shape  is  he 
Steals  up  yon  gorge  all  desolate  of  light 
Whence  voices  of  fierce- tongued  and  desperate 

streams 

Sound  faint  as  throats  of  nooning  doves?  Till  now 
Never  have  I  beheld  a  living  thing 
Amid  these  wastes.   What  manner  beast  is  he 
That  he  hath  power  to  awe  me,  though  removed 
So  far  the  fallen  vastness  of  a  cliff 
Wherefrom  a  temple  might  be  quarried,  looks 
Fit  for  a  shepherd's  sling?  .  .  .  Surely  he  comes 


ACT  I]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   301 

From  nameless  battle  yonder  in  the  depths; 
But  whither  steals  he  homeward  there  aloft? 
What  lair  is  his  cloud-hidden  in  the  snows, 
Whose  mates  and  loves  wait  'neath  the  desert 

palms 

To  hear  him  tell  his  deed?   Huge  was  the  fight 
That  left  that  mighty  prowess  broken  so! 
For  sorely  is  he  broken :  now  he  stops 
And  lies  exhausted  by  an  icy  pool, 
Now  labors  up  the  shale,  skirts  the  bald  top, 
Drops  with  fierce  caution  down  the  further  slope 
Eyeing  the  next  hard  pass.  I  wonder  .  .  .  ?  No  .  .  . 

Strange!  't  was  a  blood-drop  fell  upon  that  flower 
A-tremble  from  the  brink.   Another  here 
Upon  the  ground-moss  —  nay,  upon  my  hand  — 
It  falls  all  round  me!  ... 
Looking  upward. 

Ah,  an  eagle  goes 

Lame  from  the  battle,  mate  or  duelist 
Of  him  who  crept  by  yonder.    Even  here 
I  see  the  vast  wings,  shattered  and  unpenned, 
Almost  refuse  their  labor;  now  he  swerves 
To  rest  upon  a  needled  dolomite, 
Then  upward  grievously  another  stage 


302  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  I 

Toward  some  sad  eyrie  where  his  heart  abides. 
I  too  must  seek  my  eyrie  —  sad  enough, 
Since  there  my  heart  abides  not  any  more, 
Amid  the  waste  infinitudes  of  light 
Missing  the  flow  of  day,  the  refluent  dark; 
Amid  the  bliss  of  unconcerning  eyes 
Remembering  woman's  anguish,  man's  resolve, 
Youth's    wistful    darling    guess,     kindled    and 

quenched 

And  quenched  and  kindled  yet  a  little  year 
In  eyes  too  frail  to  hold  their  meaning  long 
Where  chance  and  enmity  conspire  with  death. 
He  flies  tip  the  Valley. 


ACT  I.    SCENE  II 

Above  the  peaks  that  crown  the  head  of  the  Valley  of 
the  Judgment. 

RAPHAEL. 
Flying. 

Soon  will  the  cliffs  of  Heaven  give  easier  way, 
For  though  my  heart  grows  human,  yet  my  frame 
With  immaterial  things  accordance  keeps, 
And  to  my  feet  these  spiritual  hills 
Feel  native,  and  the  climate  kind  to  breathe; 
Still  kindlier  for  the  shredded  mist  of  song 
That  wanders  here  at  morning  and  at  eve 
Whispering  witless  words  and  prophecy. 

VOICES. 
Above. 

Through  the  vines  of  tangled  light 
In  the  jungles  of  the  sun 
Swept  the  Hunter  in  his  might 
And  his  lion-beagle  dun 
Gaped  for  prey  to  left  and  right. 

O'er  the  passes  of  the  moon 
Strode  the  Hunter  in  his  wrath: 
The  eagle  sniffed  the  icy  noon, 


304  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  i 

"Master,  knowest  thou  the  path? 
Shall  we  meet  thy  foe-man  soon? 

11  On  what  interstellar  plain, 
'Mid  what  comet's  blinding  haze, 
Storm  of  star  dust,  meteor  rain, 
Shall  we  spy  his  crouching  gaze, 
Leap  at  him,  and  end  thy  pain?" 

Peace  is  on  the  heavenly  meres, 
Sabbath  lies  on  Paradise; 
But  the  little  Throne-Lamp  fears, 
For  she  sees  the  Master's  eyes, 
And  she  tastes  the  Master's  tears. 

RAPHAEL. 

Many  an  age  your  song  has  hovered  round 
This  theme  of  Heaven's  distress.   What  mean  ye 

now? 

Was  that  the  lion-hound  of  which  ye  sing 
Crept  wounded  hither,  masterless,  this  hour? 

VOICES. 
As  before. 

Where  had  his  gadding  spirit  led  ? 
Beside  what  peopled  water-head 


ACT  I]  THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  305 

Stooped  he,  or  on  what  sleeping  face 

Was  he  intent  the  dream  to  trace? 

Had  creature  love  upon  him  fawned 

Or  had  he  drunk  of  mortal  mirth 

That  he  knew  not  what  a  morning  dawned 

Over  his  darling  earth? 

Heard  not  the  storm,  heard  not  the  cries, 

Heard  not  the  talk  of  the  startled  skies 

Over  the  guilty  earth? 

RAPHAEL. 

Those  dubious  voices  fade,  and  in  their  stead 
Succeeds  a  sound  more  anxious  and  perturbed, 
Voices  and  mutterings  of  supernal  wrath 
Or  whisperings  of  fear.  .  .  .  Ah,  there  aloft 
Upon  the  beetling  rosy  crag  they  stand, 
The  pale  horse  and  the  white  horse  and  the  red ! 
What  rage  vermilions  his  expanded  wing? 
Why  streams  his  mane  so  fiery  on  the  wind 
Back  from  his  staring  eyeballs?     What  should 

make 

His  brother's  steady  candor  pulse  and  throb 
And  falter  like  the  light  on  cavern  walls 
Rocked  under  by  the  tide?   O  never  yet 
Did  the  pale  horse  seem  terrible  as  now, 


306  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  I 

Pawing  the  margent  cliff  and  snorting  down 
Pale  fire  into  the  Valley !  .  .  .  Brothers,  hail ! 
I  fare  from  outland.   Tell  me  what  befalls. 

ANGEL  OF  THE  WHITE  HORSE. 
He  strays  too  much  abroad.   He  hath  not  heard. 

ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE. 
They  say  that  he  has  lived  too  much  in  the  sun 
And  waxes  mortal,  mortal.   We  shall  see. 

ANGEL  OF  THE  RED  HORSE. 
Saw'st  thou  aught  stirring  in  the  valley  deeps? 

RAPHAEL. 

Far  down  below  a  beast  crept  wounded  hither. 
Why  gaze  ye  on  each  other  thus  aghast? 

ANGEL  OF  THE  RED  HORSE. 
Cast  ye  that  way  —  the  passes  and  defiles ! 
This  way  will  I. 
The  Angels  of  the  Horses  disappear. 

RAPHAEL. 

What  news  has  spread  concern 
Even  to  these  marks  and  purlieus  of  God's  dream? 


ACT  i]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  307 

Below  the  sun's  pale  rim  a  paleness  moves, 
Grows  larger,  blots  the  disc  with  deepening  light. . . «. 
And  now  above  the  Valley  treads  a  shape 
Too  lordly  to  be  aught  but  Uriel! 
Poised  on  a  peak  he  halts  to  gaze  behind ; 
Now  wingeth  nearer,  in  the  Eagle's  track  — 

URIEL. 

Approaching. 

Hail,  brother. 

RAPHAEL. 
Hail!    Saw'st  thou  the  fight  below? 

URIEL. 

Of  what  I  saw  I  cannot  spell  the  sense, 
Too  darkly  hid  for  me! 

RAPHAEL. 

Share  me  at  least 

Thy  news,  though  scant.   That  winged  and  brin 
dled  bulk, 

Whence  came  it  and  what  quarry  did  it  seek  ? 
And  the  great  eagle,  was  it  mate  or  foe? 

URIEL. 

No  earthly  beast  it  was,  no  earthly  bird, 
Seeking  no  earthly  quarry.   More  than  this 


308  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  i 

I  know  not  how  to  say,  ere  I  have  mused 
Where  in  the  sun's  core  light  and  thought  are  one. 

RAPHAEL. 
But  yet  conjecture  clamors  at  thy  heart. 

URIEL. 

Thou  knowest  what  whispers  are  abroad  in  Heaven ; 
How  God  pines  ever  for  his  broken  dream, 
Broken  by  vague  division,  whence  who  knows! 
And  pangs  of  restless  love  too  strong  to  quench 
Save  by  the  putting  of  creation  forth,  — 
Quenched  then  but  for  a  moment,  since  the  worlds 
He  made  to  soothe  Him  only  vex  Him  more, 
Being  compact  of  passion,  violent, 
Exceeding  quarrelsome,  and  in  their  midst 
Man  the  arch-troubler.    Fainter  whispers  say 
He  ponders  how  to  win  his  prodigal 
By  some  extremity  to  render  back 
The  heritage  abused,  to  merge  again 
Each  individual  will  into  his  will : 
Till  when,  his  pangs  increase. 

RAPHAEL. 

A  nine  days'  tale. 
I  hold  Him  no  such  weakling!  Yet . . .  and  yet.  . . 


ACT  I]   THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  309 

I    have    beheld  ...  I     know    not  .  .  .  pallor 

couched 

On  brows  that  wont  to  beacon ;  through  the  orbs 
Quivers  of  twilight,  hints  and  flecks  of  change.  .  .  . 
We  cannot  be,  we  would  not  be,  I  deem, 
The  same  as  ere  space  was,  or  time  began 
To  trellis  there  life's  wild  and  various  bloom. 
—  We  linger.   Let  me  hear. 

URIEL. 

Some  things  He  made 
Out  of  his  wistfulness,  his  ecstasy, 
And  made  them  lovely  fair;  yet  other  some 
Out  of  his  loathing,  out  of  his  remorse, 
Out  of  chagrin  at  the  antinomy 
Cleaving  his  nature ;  these  are  monstrous  shapes, 
Whereof  the  most  abhorred  one  dwells  below 
Within  the  caves  and  aged  wells  of  dark 
Toward  which  this  Valley  plunges.  There  it  waits 
Hoarding  its  ugly  strength  till  time  be  full. 

RAPHAEL. 
How  nam'st  thou  him? 

URIEL. 

The  spirits  meditative 
Darkly  name  him :  The  Worm  that  Dieth  not,  — 


310  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  i 

Perhaps    the   scourge    reserved    for    those    who 

prove 

Rebellious  in  the  event,  perhaps  himself 
Scourge  of  the  Scourger,  biding  but  his  hour 
To  'venge  his  miscreation.   So  he  lies, 
A  thing  most  opposite  to  spirit-kind, 
Most  hated  by  the  Four  who  guard  the  Throne, 
Within  the  viewless  panoply  of  light 
Immediately  ministrant.   To  them, 
But  to  the  Lion  and  the  Eagle  most, 
Is  given  to  gaze  in  the  Eternal  eyes 
Like  hounds  about  a  hunter's  knee,  that  watch 
Each  passion  written  on  their  master's  brow, 
And  having  read  his  trouble,  steal  away 
To    taste    the    troubler's    flesh    beneath    their 

fangs. 

So  stole  away  the  Lion  of  the  Throne, 
The  Eagle  for  his  aid.    Beneath  the  moon 
Last  night  I  came  upon  them  stealing  down, 
Too  eager  on  the  scent  to  mark  my  flight. 
Even  to  the  splintered  curb  of  the  last  profound 
I  followed,  and  thence  heard  the  battle  rage 
Bellowed  above  by  the  loath  elements, 
Till  dawn  showed  in  the  east,  an  ashen  dawn 
Clotted  and  drizzled  o'er  with  sullen  light. 


ACT  I]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  311 

RAPHAEL. 

Their  hearts  were  faithful.  They  were  fain  to  save 
The  Master  from  some  sad  extremity.  .  .  . 
But  not  in  yonder  depths,  alas,  doth  lie 
The  arch-foe  of  his  peace.   Would  it  were  so ! 
A  monster  bred  to  hatred  in  the  dark. 
Would  it  were  so !  not  rather,  as  we  fear, 
Man  the  uplifted  stature,  the  proud  mind, 
The  laughter! 

URIEL. 

Speedily  our  doubt  shall  end, 
For  not  much  more  delayeth  the  event. 
—  My  watch  is  set  within  the  sun,  and  thither 
My  hour  constrains  me. 

RAPHAEL. 

Heavenward  I.   Farewell! 

ACT   I.  SCENE   III 

A  garden  in  Heaven.  The  Eagle  sits  on  the  Tree  of 
Knowledge ;  the  Lion  and  the  Angel  of  the  White 
Horse  rest  beneath. 

ANGEL  OF  THE  WHITE  HORSE. 
Deep  in  the  purple  umbrage  droops  the  bird, 
His  sick  eye  sealed  beneath  the  weary  lid 


312  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  i 

Which  scarce  his  right  wing's  torn  and  gaping  gold 
Disfeathered  hideth,  since  long  hours  ago 
He  sidewise  tucked  his  wounded  head  away, 
Shunning  the  light's  offense;  and  through  the 

boughs 

Let  sink  this  mighty  pinion  sinister 
A  vast  and  ruined  length,  whereof  the  plumes 
That  yesterday  planed  sunlike  o'er  the  Throne 
Are  all  blood-rusted  now  and  misted  on 
With  obscure  breathings  of  a  nadir  clime. 
Between  the  Lion's  paws  a  thousand  flowers 
Have  withered  since  he  laid  him  groaning  down, 
And  in  uneasy  slumber  racked  with  dreams 
Flingeth  at  whiles  a  sanguine  froth  abroad 
To  sear  what  rests  of  herbage  or  of  bloom 
Un withered  by  his  breath.   They  saw  me  not 
Though   close   I    tracked   them   up   the   cloudy 

heights, 
Nor  once  have  marked  me  through  the  exhausted 

hours 
While  here  I  wait  the  time  to  question  them. 

Hark!  in  their  dreams  they  speak,  and  in  their 

dreams 
Do  act  again  their  awful  enterprise. 


ACT  i]'  THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  313 

THE  EAGLE. 

Creep  softly,  softly!   Heaven's  streets  are  still, 
Each  seraph  sentry  drowseth  on  his  hill, 
The  winds  of  song  are  folded,  and  as  flowers 
Folded  are  all  the  domes  and  dreaming  towers. 
Creep  softly,  softly ;  I  am  with  thee,  mate ! 
Softly  I  soar  above  the  shrouded  gate, 
And  till  thou  comest  past  the  warding  swords 
Lone  in  the  outer  moonlight  I  will  wait. 

THE  LION. 

Wing  swiftly !   For  the  walls  of  chrysopras 
Have  melted  at  my  roar  to  let  me  pass; 
But  Heaven  is  up  and  peers  with  mazed  eyes, 
And  wings  are  weighed  to  hinder  our  emprise. 
Wing  swiftly,  swiftly,  down  the  glooming  air, 
Past  cloud  and  precipice  and  mountain  stair, 
For  ere  another  morning  drowns  the  stars 
We  must  have  met  the  Worm  wfthin  his  lair. 

THE  EAGLE. 

Drear  are  the  depths,  O  brother, 
Bitter  the  fight! 
Vainly  we  stand  by  each  other. 


3i4  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  I 

Thy  might  and  my  might 

Are  as  straw,  in  the  flame  and  the  smother. 

ANGEL  OF  THE  WHITE  HORSE. 

0  ye  familiars  benedite, 

Who,  hidden  in  the  eternal  glow, 
Keep  guard  about  the  Throne, 
What  things  were  given  to  your  sight 
Ere  to  the  hold  of  such  a  foe 
Ye  dared  to  venture  down? 

THE  LION. 

A  waking. 

Ages  and  ages  we  gazed, 

Stricken  at  heart  and  amazed, 

Till  the  morning  look 

From  his  brow  was  strook, 

Silver  and  vair 

In  the  flame  of  his  hair 

And  his  lip  with  anguish  crazed. 

Then  low  I  spoke  to  my  mate, 
"My  heart  must  unburden  its  hate. 

1  will  walk  through  the  pathless  woods 
Where  the  wild  stars  hatch  their  broods, 
I  will  girdle  the  steppes 


ACT  I]  THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  315 

Where  the  meteor  creeps 

Like  a  slug  on  the  rimy  sward. 

Perhaps  at  the  trampled  brink 

Where  the  Bear  goes  down  to  drink, 

Perhaps  where  on  the  purple  leas 

Dance  the  young  Pleiades, 

Somewhere  at  length 

I  shall  laugh  in  my  strength 

Spying  the  Shape  abhorred, 

Somewhere  at  last 

I  shall  break  my  fast 

On  the  flesh  of  the  Foe  of  the  Lord!" 

THE  EAGLE. 

Wearily  thou  crep'st  back 
Sore  from  the  track; 

Thy  hide  was  torn  and  thy  tongue  was  black. 
Long  thou  did'st  slumber  and  deep. 

THE  LION. 

A  voice  came  in  my  sleep 
Saying,  "Why  wander  so  far? 
Nearhand  lieth  the  earth 
Full  of  rumors  of  war, 
Of  passion  and  pride  no  dearth. 
There  in  his  cavern  cold 


316  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  I 

Lurketh  the  Dragon  old ; 

He  lies  and  pastures,  plain  to  see, 

On  God's  heart,  sluggishly, 

As  once  he  sucked  of  the  fruits  of  gold 

Ages  ago,  on  the  Eden  tree. 

ANGEL  OF  THE  WHITE  HORSE. 
Hearken !   A  wind  walks  in  the  Tree 
Though  the  lily-heads  are  still, 
From  bough  to  bough  inscrutably 
It  feeleth  out  its  will; 
And  now  the  leaves,  a-tremble  long, 
Utter  impulsive  song. 

THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  TREE. 
Not  in  the  loosened  whirlwinds  that  invade 
The  sun's  white  core  with  shade, 
Not  in  the  wandering  tribes  of  fire  that  sweep 
With  rapine  through  the  deep, 
Not  in  the  venom  of  the  caverned  Worm 
That  drowseth  out  his  term, 
Nay,  not  in  these  or  aught  akin  to  these 
Consisteth  of  God's  groaning  and  disease 
The  incorporeal  germ. 
Though  all  that  He  hath  made 
Rebels  and  is  exceeding  turbulent, 


ACT  I]  THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  317 

Though  all  his  loins'  increase 

Go  after  pleasures  other  than  He  meant, 

And  with  excessive  claims 

Drain  and  defile  the  founts  of  his  content,  — 

Yet  only  one  of  all  the  shapes  He  brought 

Out  of  the  gulfs  of  thought, 

One  only  creature  of  his  quickening  hands 

Hath  from  its  brow 

With  reckless  laugh  and  with  reiterate  vow 

Stripped  clean  away  all  decencies  and  shames; 

Till  with  continual  strife 

And  divagant  demands 

Of  separate  life, 

The  searching  and  the  scornful  heart  of  Man 

God's  inmost  being  maims. 

THE  EAGLE. 

For  naught  have  my  wings  been  broken, 
Vain  are  the  wounds  of  thy  paws! 
Hark  what  the  Tree  hath  spoken. 

ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE. 
Hush !   For  a  murmur  shakes  the  bloom 
That  once  drank  Eden  dew, 
A  shadowed  wind  like  a  word  of  doom 
Darkens  the  branches  through. 


3i8  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  I 

THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  TREE. 
Now  draweth  on  the  time  declared  of  old 
When  He  shall  make  division  of  the  fold, 
Shall  winnow  out  the  kernels  from  the  chaff, 
Shall  tread  his  grapes,  and  in  a  silver  cup 
Chalice  the  good  wine  up 
And  cast  away  the  pummace  and  the  draff. 

Too  long  and  much  too  long 

He  hath  endured  his  wrong. 

A  little  vine  of  life  He  set  to  grow 

Not  far  off  from  the  footstool  of  his  feet, 

That  it  might  be  in  spring  a  pleasant  show 

Of  budding  charities, 

In  autumn  clothe  itself  with  temperate  sweet 

Of  love's  long-mellowing  fruit 

So  mild  the  angel  youth  might  pluck  and  eat 

Nor  feel  the  mortal  savor  trouble  shoot 

Across  their  holy  ease. 

But  now  the  vine, 

Grown  waste  and  riotous,  has  sent  its  root 

With  monstrous  loop  and  twine 

In  circles  nine  times  nine 

About  the  bowels  of  his  holy  hill, 

And  million-fold  its  mouth 


ACT  I]     THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    319 

Has  drunk  his  songful  springs  and  quenched  his 

veins  with  drouth. 
Twelve  shapes  of  sculptured  dream 
On  Heaven's  twelve  gateways  gleam, 
Jasper,  chalcedony,  and  jade, 
Beryl  and  lazuline; 

And  there-amid  the  rank  leaves  of  the  vine 
Earthy  and  lush 
At  morn  with  laughter  push, 
At  evening  droop  and  fade. 
Its  carnal  fruits  are  insolently  laid, 
With  stealth  and  hasty  birth, 
Even  in  God's  streets  and  in  his  garden  bowers, 
And  from  the  topmost  glory  of  his  towers 
Singeth  and  maketh  mirth 
The  exultation  of  its  sudden  flowers. 
Long  and  too  long  hath  his  compassion  shrunk 
From  laying  of  the  axe  unto  the  trunk; 
Nor,  though  the  blade  is'ground,  and  kindled  white 
The  furnace,  will  He  quite 
Even  now, 

Even  now,  though  day  is  late, 
Utterly  burn  and  cast  into  the  slough 
The  thing  He  made  to  love  and  still  is  loath  to 

hate. 


320  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  I 

But  first  He  will  put  off  eternity 

And  put  on  body  of  their  flowering  clay, 

That  thus  brought  near  He  may  familiarly 

Close  in  each  ear  the  word  of  pleading  say. 

Each  blinding  heart  that  stubborns  all  astray 

Shall  hear  Him  calling  closer  than  the  blood 

That  both  its  ruby  gates  with  tumult  fills; 

And  to  the  wild  procession  of  their  wills 

Raving  idolatrous  in  the  sacred  wood, 

His  voice  of  poignant  love 

Though  quiet  as  the  voice  of  dust  to  dust 

Shall  clearly  sound  above 

The  beaten  cymbal  and  the  shrewd-blown  shell, 

Saying  as  soft  as  rain, 

"The  gift  I  gave  I  fain  would  have  again, 

Ye  have  not  used  it  well ! 

Break  ye  the  thyrsus  and  the  phallic  sign, 

Put  off  the  ivy  and  the  violet, 

A  dearer  standard  shall  before  you  shine 

And  for  your  lustral  foreheads  ye  shall  twine 

A  fairer  garland  yet, 

When  the  processions  mild 

Shall  greet  you  and  behold  you  reconciled 

And  sing  you  home  across  the  deathless  asphodel. 

But  ye  who  will  not  so, 


ACT  I]     THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    321 

Take  up  the  phallus  and  the  wreathed  snake, 
Let  the  wine  flow, 

And  let  the  mountains  echo  to  your  yell. 
Your  ways  lie  by  the  burning  of  the  lake 
Long  kindled  for  your  sake : 
Be  ye  not  slow, 
But  go 

Urging  your  panther  teams  through   the  wide 
woods  of  Hell!" 


ACT   II 

Time:  during  and  immediately  after  the  Crucifixion. 
The  outlying  plains  of  Heaven.   Storm  and  darkness. 

RAPHAEL. 

But  now  the  air  was  thick  with  panic  shades 
Who  made  no  answer  when  I  cried  to  them 
Across  the  vortices  of  spiritual  dark. 
Upon  what  stricken  plain  have  I  been  flung, 
Whose  miscreations  blot  with  leaves  like  hands 
The  far  horizon  light?   Some  glow-worm  ghost 
Flees  yonder,  pauses,  turns,  and  flees  again : 
A  woman  spirit,  by  the  anguish  sweet 
Wakes  in  me  at  her  anguish.   Sister,  hear! 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  THRONE-LAMP. 
O  Light  undimmed,  if  thou  art  powerful, 
Speak  to  the  wind !  For  see,  my  wings  are  torn 
And  shelter  not  my  lamp ;  't  is  almost  spent. 

RAPHAEL. 

Me  too  the  wind  afflicts.   Together  thus 
Our  wings  will  shield  the  flame.   Already,  see, 
It  climbs  and  steadies  in  the  crystal  bowl, 


ACT  II]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  323 

And  purges  half  the  terror  from  thine  eyes, 
Thou  love-lamp  of  the  Lord !  Are  these  his  storms? 
By  his  allowance  are  we  thus  distraught? 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LAMP. 
His  throne  is  empty  and  Himself  is  gone. 

RAPHAEL. 
Child,  fright  hath  crazed  thee.   Lean  thy  shaking 

breast 
On  mine :  shut  out  the  terrifying  dark. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LAMP. 
He  died  with  grieving  o'er  the  world  He  made. 

RAPHAEL. 

We  live  in  Him ;  with  Him  shall  all  things  die. 
Bright  burns  thy  lamp ;  take  heart,  and  tell  me  soon 
What  hath  befallen  in  Heaven. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LAMP. 

I  know  not  well. 
My  secret  lies  upon  my  heart  too  long.  .  .  . 

RAPHAEL. 

Nay,  tremble  not.    Rather  look  out  and  see 
What  presence  comes;  its  influence  makes  cheer; 
'T  will  be  some  spirit  glad  and  resolute. 


324    THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    [ACT  n 

Put  by  thy  wings  and  look ;  my  eyes  are  blind 
Watching  the  feverous  pulsings  of  thy  lamp. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LAMP. 

'T  is  he  whose  tent  is  pitched  within  the  sun, 
But  hardly  glad,  no  longer  resolute. 
Even  Uriel's  lordly  light  the  wind  subdues. 

RAPHAEL. 
Hail,  Uriel! 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LAMP. 
Hail! 

URIEL. 
Hail,  brother!   Sister,  hail! 

RAPHAEL. 

Close,  lend  thy  breadth  of  wing!     Thou  art  a 

strength. 
Speak,  if  thou  knowest  what  has  come  to  pass. 

URIEL. 

Something  I  know,  and  hither  through  the  storms 
Ttfat  vex  the  deeps  and  on  disastrous  shores « 
Fling  all  frail  stars  that  coast  and  merchant  there, 


ACT  II]    THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    325 

I  come  to  learn  the  sequel  —  if  to  learn 
Be  mine,  in  such  a  matter. 

RAPHAEL. 

Speak. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LAMP. 

Oh,  speak! 
URIEL. 

'Neath  pleached  boughs  and  vines  of  ancient  fire 
In  the  white  centre  of  the  sun  I  lay, 
And  watched  the  armies  of  young  seraphim 
Naked  at  play  on  the  candescent  plains, 
When  suddenly  the  skies  of  flame  were  rent 
In  sunder,  and  the  plain  became  a  sea 
Whereon  the  whirlwind  walked  through  weltering 

lanes 

To  the  sun's  core.   With  pain  I  made  my  way 
'Twixt  element  and  angry  element. 
Vast  shapes  of  gathering  and  dissolving  fire 
That  seemed  as  beast  and  bird,  and  awful  frames 
Of  shadow,  dubious  whether  bird  or  beast 
Or  fish  or  reptile,  hidden  until  now 
In  shifting  caverns  of  the  photosphere, 
Rose  up  across  my  path ;  and  in  their  eyes 
Sat  fear,  and  on  their  limbs  astonishment. 


326   THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   [ACT  n 

At  last,  long  battling  and  bewildered  oft, 
I  gained  the  solar  coasts.   Wide  round  I  saw 
Each  planet  passion-changed,  each  haggard  star 
Reeling  from  flight  and  swoon,  and  the  great  deep 
Toiled  like  a  runner's  heart  who  runs  with  death. 
Calm  at  confusion's  centre  stood  the  Earth, 
A  spiritual  nimbus  round  her  brow 
Like  as  a  woman  angel-visited, 
Sightless  and  deaf  to  all  things  save  her  swoon 
And  her  heart's  solemn  hallelujah. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LAMP. 

Oh, 

What  hath  He  sent  upon  the  joyous  Earth? 
The  Earth  that  has  the  blue  and  little  flowers 
Thou  brought'st  me  once  to  wreath  my  lamp 

withal, 

Earth-lover!  But  they  faded  very  soon, 
And  left  a  nameless  hunger  in  my  heart. 
Thy  Earth  was  chosen,  Raphael!  Art  thou  glad? 

RAPHAEL. 

Not  glad  nor  sorry,  sister,  since  not  yet 
I  know  the  meaning  of  our  brother's  words. 
Earth-wandering,  and  the  shows  of  restless  time, 
Have  weighed  the  eyelids  of  my  spirit  down. 


ACT  ii]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  327 

Speak,  Uriel,  and  speak  plain.     What  followed 

then? 

URIEL. 

That  rapt  and  solemn  aspect  of  the  Earth 
Soon  drew  me  to  her  through  the  shuddering  air; 
And  circling  swiftly  round  her  as  she  went 
I  neared  the  twilight  verge  that  dipped  toward 

night. 

Here  on  a  sunset  hill  I  stayed  my  wings. 
Rabble  of  people  and  much  soldiery 
Poured  thence  into  their  city  gates;  the  place 
Was  steeped  in  level  spendor  after  storm, 
And  like  to  pillars  of  advancing  fire 
Three  trees  of  crucifixion  loomed,  whereon 
Three  men  hung  crucified,  one  beautiful 
Beyond  the  measure  of  Man's  flowering  clay, 
Conspicuous  o'er  the  world  placed  for  a  sign. 
Slowly  to  meet  my  gaze  the  dying  lids 
Were  lifted,  and  the  faint  eyes  swam  on  mine — • 

RAPHAEL. 
Nay,  sister,  sink  not !  We  are  three :  be  strong. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LAMP. 
I  know  whose  eyes  swam  faint  on  thine !   I  know 
The  sorrows  that  He  suffered  for  his  world, 


328  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  n 

Ere  ever  He  put  off  eternity 

And  put  on  clay,  to  be  by  hands  of  clay 

Hung  for  a  sign! 

RAPHAEL. 

Above  the  pausing  wind 
Hearken!  a  rush  of  pinions.   Who  are  these 
That  put  an  influence  in  this  bitter  air 
Like  Spring  when  she  comes  galliard  from  the 
south? 

URIEL. 

The  globe  of  amber  light  wherein  they  fly 
Goes  ashen  in  the  flaws.   That  ship  of  souls 
Tacks  in  the  wind's  teeth  and  is  blown  abroad 
Nigh  Heaven's  last  confines.   Now  it  veers  again, 
And  groweth  larger:  they  will  pass  this  way. 
Brother,  lift  up  thy  voice  and  sing  to  them. 
These  be  the  spirits  that  within  the  moon 
Wander  the  lucent  forests;  shy  are  they 
Amid  their  wood-thoughts  and  their  shy  love- 
thoughts, 

Only  by  song  their  minds  are  quickly  swayed. 
Wide  has  the  ocean  been  for  their  frail  wings, 
And  wild  the  panic  that  has  driven  them  forth 
From  their  still  lunar  isle.   Thy  song  shall  be 
A  kindly  net  to  snare  them  as  they  pass. 


ACT  II]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  329 

RAPHAEL. 

Sings. 

Shore-birds  wet  with  deep-sea  dew, 

Fold  your  wings  and  stay  your  flight; 

Stay,  stay! 

Long  was  the  way, 

Grieved  with  wind  is  your  tender  light, 

Stay,  till  our  love  rekindle  you. 

Wood-birds  that  through  lunar  glens 

Flood  the  noon  of  night  with  singing, 

Hearken,  hearken! 

Our  minds  undarken: 

O'er  your  phosphor  forests  winging, 

Say,  what  shadow  scared  you  thence? 

The  moon-spirits  alight  in  a  circle  round  the  three  an 
gels. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LAMP. 

How  fair  they  must  have  been  ere  yet  their  light 
Was  ruined  with  the  wind  and  flying  spume, 
Being  so  fair,  though  ruined ! 

FIRST  MOON-SPIRIT. 

Who  are  ye 

That  seem  so  safe  when  every  shaken  world 
Voideth  its  tenantry,  and  even  those  stars 


330   THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   [ACT  n 

That  keep  the  marches  and  strongholds  of  space 
Flee  with  affrighted  eyes  down  alien  deeps, 
Or  cling  to  the  necks  of  comets,  whispering  words 
That  stop  them  in  their  courses,  though  they 

be 
Violent  souls  and  outlaw. 

URIEL. 

We  are  such 

As  share  God's  sorrow  in  his  evil  time, 
And  wait  the  issue  of  the  desperate  draught 
He  drinks  this  hour  to  win  surcease  of  pain. 

SECOND  MOON-SPIRIT. 

Speak  simply  to  the  simple ;  make  thy  words 
Accordant  to  our  minds;  our  element 
Is  the  moon's  meek,  unintellectual  day. 

URIEL. 

You  in  the  moon  have  felt  his  pangs  more  near 
Than  may  the  passionate  dwellers  in  quick  worlds 
Wrapped  in  their  own  hot  being ;  for  your  sphere 
Has  cooled  the  angry  metal  in  its  veins, 
Its  spent  volcanoes  utter  now  no  more 
Their  proud  and  hasty  meanings;  age  by  age 
Your  world  tends  back  to  silence,  rendering  up 


ACT  n]   THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT     331 

Its  selfhood  and  control  into  his  hands 

Whence  it  rebelled,  like  all  his  prodigals, 

To  spend   the  hoard  of  fire  He  dowered  them 

with 

Too  rashly.   So  it  hangs,  a  doubtful  ground : 
Now,  brooded  on  by  powers  of  heavenly  peace, 
It  goeth  darkling  and  your  hearts  are  dumb, 
Now,  caught  within  the  orbits  of  desire, 
It  gathers  ghostly  splendor;  in  your  woods 
Old  rites  are  paid,  and  o'er  your  crystal  peaks, 
That  burn  at  the  heart  like  genie-haunted  gems, 
Sweeps  revelry  so  wild  that  mortal  men, 
Shepherds  or  sailors,  gazing  half  a  night, 
Wander  at  dawn  brain-crazed. 

THIRD  MOON-SPIRIT. 

Angel,  we  wait, 

We  wait  with  trembling  till  thy  lips  declare 
This  present  hour's  disaster.   Whose  the  arm 
That  broke  our  steppes  in  twain,  and  from  the 

roots 

Of  cloven  hills  haled  shapes  of  former  men 
And  frames  of  monstrous  ravin,  ages  dead? 
Whose  mouth  was  set  against  the  moon-children 
To  blow  their  sheeny  pleasances  to  dust 


332    THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    [ACT  n 

And  scare  them  from  their  world? 

What  plains  are  these 
Whose  spiritual  pulse  of  light  and  dark 
Throbs  as  if  hope  and  terror  struggled  there? 

URIEL. 

These  are  the  plains  of  Heaven,  least  create 
Of  God's  creation,  nearest  to  his  hand 
When  He  would  discreate,  as  now  perchance, 
The  deeps  that  teem  with  rebel  energies 
Wanton,  unteachable,  intolerable, 
Whereof  the  soul  of  man,  though  meant  to  be 
His  dearest  pride  and  joy,  is  frowardest 
And  first  to  vex  Him:  were  Man's  will  subdued, 
The  rest  beneath  his  banners  soon  would  swarm. 
Long  hath  He  warned  and  pleaded,  but  to-day 
With  a  most  searching  bosom-whisper  pleads; 
For  in  their  likeness  clad  He  gives  Himself 
To  die  that  they  may  live,  accepting  Him, 
Or,  still  rejecting,  and  preferring  still 
Their  own  unto  his  pleasure,  may  be  cast 
To  outer  darkness  and  the  second  death. 
These  storms  and  perturbations  are  his  throes, 
And  here  we  wait  until  He  reassume 
His  attributes  and  kingdom. 


ACT  II]    THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   333 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LAMP. 

Will  He  come? 

And  will  the  ancient  peace  be  ours  again? 
Speak,  brother,  will  it  be? 

URIEL. 

Hope  still  is  ours. 

Tremble  no  more,  sweet  Flame !  Good  hope  is  ours. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LAMP. 
My  secret  lies  upon  my  heart  too  long! 
Since  first  the  trumpet  told  of  Time  begun, 
And  in  the  seven  bowls  the  seven  flames, 
So  white  before  and  still,  a  patient  praise, 
Leaped  up  in  restless  colors,  fear  hath  stood 
A  whispering  eighth  among  the  sisters  seven, 
A  thin  small  voice  singing  above  our  songs, 
A  hush  beneath  our  hush.    Each  side  the  throne 
The  mystic  olive  trees  began  to  blow, 
And  on  the  candlesticks  that  burn  beneath 
Dropped  dying  bloom  and  fruitage  mortal  ripe. 
When  evening  spread  upon  the  holy  hill 
Its  excellence  of  peace,  small  restless  wings, 
To  Heaven  unnative,  fluttered  round  our  lamps, 
Forever  circling  nearer  till  they  threw 
Into  the  flame  their  lives  of  longing  dust, 


334   THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    [ACT  n 

And  though  we  plucked  the  char  out  hastily 
A  climbing  rust  had  dulled  our  torch  of  praise. 
Nay,  where  the  very  breast  of  God  should  be, 
Fofever  panoplied  with  viewless  light, 
Gnawed  darkness  like  a  worm,  and  when  this  wind 
That  never  came  till  now,  blew  wide  and  thin 
The  splendor  of  the  Throne-stead  —  hush,  bend 

close !  — 
His  eyes  were  old  with  pain.   Then  all  at  once  — 

0  brothers,  is  it  hours  or  aeons  since?  — 
Intolerable  lambence  lit  the  air; 

The  sea  of  glass  whereon  the  nations  stand 
At  morn  to  carol,  curdled  red  as  blood, 
And  rolled  a  moaning  billow  to  the  shore; 
The  Eagle  screamed;  upon  the  tabled  gem 
Where  was  the  footstool  of  God's  feet,  lay  prone 
The  Lion's  whining  muzzle;  and  the  Calf 
Bleated  beneath  his  six-times-folded  wing. 
My  sister  lamps  were  quenched,  but  ere  I  fled 

1  crept  up  past  the  Lion's  awful  paws, 

Up  past  the  shrouding  light,  and  saw  His  place 
Was  empty.  ...  Is  it  hours  or  aeons  since? 
I  found  the  shadowed  fields  about  me,  grey 
Each  hearted  amaranth  and  asphodel, 
The  living  forests  with  their  veins  of  light 


ACT  n]   THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    335 

Looped  thickly,  and  the  burning  flowers  between, 
The  living  waters,  and  the  lily  souls 
Along  the  waters  —  all  a  stricken  grey ! 
Where'er  I  fled  or  turned  it  still  pursued  - 
That  Nothingness  that  sat  upon  the  Throne; 
And  now  it  waits  to  seize  me  —  yonder,  here ! 

URIEL. 

Hush,  be  of  better  comfort.   Through  the  plain 
Auroral  pallors  wake  the  asphodels; 
The  wind  at  last  is  still ;  and  eastward  far 
Beyond  the  friths  and  islands  of  that  sea 
Which  spreads  before  his  dwelling  in  the  Mount, 
Behold,  beginning  glories  star  the  dusk, 
As  if  the  clouds  rolled  burning  from  the  throne, 
To  show  us  signs  and  wonders  risen  there. 
And  hark!  the  happy  presage  of  keen  wings 
Ingathering  from  the  corners  of  the  winds; 
Large  light,  and  silvery  calls  and  far  replies, 
And  deeps  of  song  that  call  unto  the  deeps. 

RAPHAEL. 

* 
His  agony  is  done :  a  little  while 

He  tarries,  but  He  surely  comes  again 
Even  though  but  for  a  little. 


336   THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   [ACT  n 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LAMP. 

Let  us  join 

These  hasting  companies  whose  steady  flight 
Goes  tempered  to  all  manner  instruments 
Borne  in  their  midst  by  hidden  taborists, 
Lute-players,  and  them  that  pluck  the  dulcimer — 
All  sweet  musicians!   Surely  these  go  in 
Unto  some  holy  matter. 

RAPHAEL. 

Surely.   Come! 


ACT   III.  SCENE   I 

A  peak  above  the    Valley  of  the  Judgment.    Between 
midnight  and  dawn  of  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

RAPHAEL. 

Alas,  on  this  lone  height  my  pinions  fail, 
And  half  my  dreaming  world  unvisited ! 
As  a  sick  woman,  who,  when  morning  glooms 
Must  leave  for  aye  the  house  where  she  was 

wed, 

Yearns  to  behold  the  thrice-familiar  rooms, 
And  rises  trembling,  and  with  watch-lamp  goes 
From  chamber  unto  chamber,  stopping  now 
To  muse  upon  her  dead  child's  pictured  brow, 
And  now  to  dream  of  little  merriments 
Enacted,  and  of  trivial  dear  events, 
Until  her  weakness  grows 
Upon  her,  and  she  sinks  and  cannot  rise,  - 
So,  since  upon  the  sad  and  prescient  skies 
The  darkness  of  this  ultimate  night  was  shed, 
My  feet  from  haunted  place  to  haunted  place 
Of  my  familiar  earth  have  kept  their  pace : 


338  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  in 

Alas,  that  ere  the  half  be  mused  upon, 
And  while  the  coming  up  of  dreadful  day 
Is  still  an  hour  away 
My  wing  is  broken,  and  my  strength  is  gone! 

Star  after  star  goes  out  above  the  peak, 
And  only  from  the  morning  star  is  shed 
Keen  influence.   Great  star!   He  is  not  weak, 
His  pinions  fail  not;  for  he  never  quaffed 
This  frail  and  fiery  air  that  mortals  drink: 
He  has  not  heard  when  little  children  laughed ; 
He  has  not  watched  old  pensioners  break  their 

bread ; 

To  woman's  lips  he  never  held  the  draught 
Of  anguish,  that  a  man-child  might  be  born; 
The  May  woods  never  saw  him  hiding  there 
His  wings  and  flaming  hair 

To  watch  the  young  men  pluck  the  budded  thorn ; 
Nor  has  his  mouth  put  off  its  seraph  scorn 
To  hang  with  startled  cry 
Of  grievous  inquiry 
Above  the  stoic  forehead  of  the  dead. 

O  heart  of  man,  how  I  have  loved  thee ! 
Hidden    in    sunlight    what    sweet    hours    were 
mine 


ACT.  in]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  339 

Of  lover-like  espial  upon  thine; 

Thrilled  with  thy  shadowy  fears,  half  guessing 

The  hope  that  lit  thy  veins  like  wine, 

Musing  why  this  was  bane  and  that  thy  bless 
ing, 

My  angel-ichor  moved  by  all  that  moved  thee; 

Though  oft  the  meanings  of  thy  joy  and  woe 

Were  hid,  were  hard  to  know; 

For  deep  beneath  the  clear  crystalline  waters 

That  feed  the  hearts  of  Heaven's  sons  and  daugh 
ters, 

The  roots  of  thy  life  go. 

O  dreamer!   O  desirer!   Goer  down 

Unto  untraveled  seas  in  untried  ships! 

O  crusher  of  the  unimagined  grape 

On  unconceived  lips! 

O  player  upon  a  lordly  instrument 

No  man  or  god  hath  had  in  mind  to  invent; 

O  cunning  how  to  shape 

Effulgent  Heaven  and  scoop  out  bitter  Hell 

From  the  little  shine  and  saltness  of  a  tear; 

Sieger  and  harrier, 

Beyond  the  moon,  of  thine  own  builded  town, 

Each  morning  won,  each  eve  impregnable, 

Each  noon  evanished  sheer! 


340  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  in 

Thou  fiery  essence  in  a  vase  of  fire! 

What  quarry  gathered  and  packed  down  the  clay 

To  make  this  delicate  vessel  of  desire? 

Who  digged  it?    In  what  mortar  did  he  bray? 

Whose  wistful  hand  did  lead 

All  round  the  lyric  brede? 

Who  tinted  it,  and  burned  the  dross  away? 

''He,  He,"  (doth  some  one  say?) 

"  Whose  mallet-arm  is  lift  and  knitted  hard 

To  break  it  into  shard!" 

Were  that  the  Maker's  way? 

Who  brings  to  being  aught, 

Love  is  his  skill  untaught, 

Love  is  his  ore,  his  furnace,  and  his  tool ; 

Who  makes,  destroyeth  not, 

But  much  is  dashed  in  pieces  by  the  fool. 

O  struggler  in  the  mesh 

Of  spirit  and  of  flesh 

Some  subtle  hand  hath  tied  to  make  thee  Man, 

That  now  is  unto  thee  a  wide  domain 

To  laugh  and  love  and  dare  in  for  a  span, 

And  straightway  is  a  prison-house  of  pain, 

A  den  of  loathing,  and  a  violent  place, 

A  hold  for  unclean  wing  and  cruel  face 


ACT  in]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  341 

That  mock  the  seared  heart  and  darkened  brain, — 

My  bosom  yearns  above  thee  at  the  end, 

Thinking  of  all  thy  gladness,  all  thy  woe; 

Whoever  is  thy  foe, 

I  am  thy  friend,  thy  friend! 

As  thou  hast  striven,  I  strove  to  comprehend 

The  piteous  sundering  set  betwixt  the  zenith 

And  nadir  of  thy  fates, 

Whose  life  doth  serious  message  send 

To  moon  and  stars,  anon  itself  demeaneth 

Below  the  brute  estates. 

Wild  heart,  that  through  the  steepening  arcs  art 

whirled 

To  a  bright  master- world, 
And  in  a  trice  must  blindly  backward  hark 
To  the  sub  terrene  dark, 
Deem  not  that  mighty  gamut-frame  was  set 
For  wanton  finger- fret ! 
No  empty-hearted  gymnast  of  the  strings 
Gave  the  wild  treble  wings, 
Or  flung  the  shuddering  bass  from  Hell's  last 

parapet. 

Though  now  the  Master  sad 
With  vehemence  shall  break  thee, 
Not  lightly  did  He  make  thee, 


342  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   [ACT  ill 

That  morning  when  his  heart  was  music-mad : 
Lovely  importings  then  his  looks  and  gestures  had. 

Whatever  cometh  with  to-morrow's  light, 

Oh,  deem  not  that  in  idlesse  or  in  spite 

The  strong  knot  of  thy  fate 

Was  woven  so  implicate, 

Or  that  a  jester  put  thee  in  that  plight. 

Darkly,  but  oh,  for  good,  for  good, 

The  spirit  infinite 

Was  throned  upon  the  perishable  blood; 

To  moan  and  to  be  abject  at  the  neap, 

To  ride  portentous  on  the  shrieking  scud 

Of  the  aroused  flood, 

And  halcyon  hours  to   preen  and   prate  in  the 

boon 
Tropical  afternoon. 

Not  in  vain,  not  in  vain, 

The  spirit  hath  its  sanguine  stain, 

And  from  its  senses  five  doth  peer 

As  a  fawn  from  the  green  windows  of  a  wood ; 

Slave  of  the  panic  woodland  fear, 

Boon-fellow  in  the  game  of  blood  and  lust 

That  fills  with  tragic  mirth  the  woodland  year, 

Searched  with  starry  agonies 


ACT  in]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    343 

Through  the  breast  and  through  the  reins, 
Maddened    and    led    by    lone    moon-wandering 

cries. 

Dust  unto  dust  complains, 
Dust  laugheth  out  to  dust, 
Sod  unto  sod  moves  fellowship, 
And  the  soul  utters,  as  she  must, 
Her  meanings  with  a  loose  and  carnal  lip; 
But  deep  in  her  ambiguous  eyes 
Forever  shine  and  slip 
Quenchless  expectancies, 
And  in  a  far-off  day  she  seems  to  put  her  trust. 

O  Morning  Star!  that  dost  arise 

Haughtily  now  from  off  thy  flaming  throne, 

And  standest  in  thy  wings'  outspreaded  zone, 

With  hand  uplift  and  intense  vision  glad, 

More  kindling  while  thy  brother  planets  fade,  — • 

Wilt  thou,  the  seldofh-speaker,  speak  and  say 

If  this,  if  this  be  then  the  far-off  day 

When  God  shall  give  the  substance  for  the  shade? 

When  Man  shall  wake,  and  be  no  more  adrad 

To  lose  the  precious  dream  he  dreamed  he  had, 

And  the  long  groping  of  his  heart  be  stayed? 


344  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   [ACT  in 

He  answers  not;  the  globed  light  he  wears 
Largens  and  largens  like  a  wondrous  flower, 
And  in  the  midst  his  wavering  radiance  fades. 
Behold,  upon  the  waters,  them  that  be 
Above  the  heavens,  how  the  lily  light 
Blooms  mystical  and  vast!  till  all  the  stars 
And  all  the  gathered  clouds  that  wait  the  day 
Are  blotted  by  its  rondure.    Dimly  grows 
From  height  to  depth  of  that  magnificence 
A  splendor  sad  that  taketh  feature  on.  .  .  . 
Lo!  where  God's  body  hangs  upon  the  cross, 
Drooping  from  out  yon  skyey  Golgotha 
Above  the  wills  and  passions  of  the  world ! 
O  doomed,  rejected  world,  awake!  awake! 
See  where  He  droopeth  white  and  pitiful ! 
Behold,  his  drooping  brow  is  pitiful! 
Cry  unto  Him  for  pity.    Climb,  oh,  haste, 
Climb  swiftly  up  yon  skyey  Golgotha 
To  where  his  feet  are  wounded !   Even  now 
He  must  have  pity  on  his  childish  ones; 
He  knoweth,  He  remembereth  they  are  dust! 

Earth  slumbers;  and  the  freshening  winds  begin 
To  blow  from  out  the  unuprisen  east; 
Yet  still  abides  that  awful  Eidolon 


ACT  in]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  345 

Large  on  the  face  of  Heaven,  and  its  light 
Is  as  the  patience  of  a  thousand  moons 
Upon  the  peaks  and  gorges  of  the  vale. 
Now  on  that  giant  forehead  slowly  dawns 
Again  the  star,  the  bright,  the  morning  star; 
Amid  the  changeful  lampings  of  his  orb 
The    Angel    stands,  with    keen  out-spreaded 

wings, 

And  lifted  hand  and  intense  vision  glad, 
As  when  he  led  his  brother  orbs  in  song. 
But  yet  no  word  nor  any  breath  of  song 
Begins  upon  the  region  silences: 
All's  hushed  as  ere  the  first-created  throat 
Was  vocal. 

Now  remoter  wonders  wake, 
Impatient  glories  gather  and  transpeer 
That  sky-suspended  Image.    Three  by  three 
The  beryl  gates,  the  gates  of  chrysoprase, 
And  those  that  are  a  very  perfect  pearl 
Open,  and  all  the  citadel  of  God 
Even  to  the  bright  acropolis  thereof, 
The  temple  of  the  ark  of  the  covenant, 
Lies    open,    steeped   in   wroth   light   from   the 

Throne; 
And  all  the  heavenly  folk  are  busy  there. 


346  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   [ACT  in 

\ 
ACT   III.   SCENE   II 

A  peak  above  the  Valley  of  the  Judgment.    Twilight  of 
the  Day  of  Judgment. 

MICHAEL. 

God's  vengeance  is  full  wrought,  unless  this  form 
That  labors  from  the  dark  mists  of  the  Vale 
Be  one  whose  strength  has  overlived  our  wrath, 
And  the  last  hunger  of  whose  heart  shall  be 
To  creep  from  out  that  mass  of  death,  and  wait 
High  on  these  ruined  hills  for  death  to  come 
At  nightfall,  when  the  last  strong  soul  must  die. 
Nay,  't  is  no  mortal  creature,  though  he  wears 
A  fallen  unhappy  splendor,  and  his  wings, 
All  eyed  and  irised  like  the  gladdest  ones 
That  glimmer  in  the  pageantry  of  Heaven, 
Are  folded  sadly  o'er  his  downcast  eyes 
As  now  he  sits  and  dreams.    'T  is  Raphael. 
Michael  descends. 

Why  sitteth  Raphael  disconsolate 
After  the  manifest  glories  of  this  day? 

RAPHAEL. 
The  rest  may  keep  the  glory. 


ACT  in]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  347 

MICHAEL. 

Wilt  thou  share 

The  love-feast  of  the  saved  in  Heaven  to-night 
With  hidden   traitorous  thoughts  clouding  thy 
heart? 

RAPHAEL. 

Never  again!   Never  again  for  me! 
Never  again  the  lily  souls  that  live 
Along  the  margent  of  the  streams,  shall  grow 
More  candid  at  my  coming.    Never  more 
God's  birds  above  the  bearers  of  the  Ark 
Shall  make  a  wood  of  implicated  wings, 
Swept  by  the  wind  of  slow  ecstatic  song. 
Thy  youths  shall  hold  their  summer  cenacles; 
I  am  not  of  their  fellowship,  it  seems. 
God's  ancient  peace  shall  feed  them,  as  it  feeds 
These  yet  uplifted  hills.    I  would  I  knew 
Where  bubbled  that  insistent  spring.   To  drink 
Deep,  and  forget  what  I  have  seen  to-day! 

MICHAEL. 

What  thou  hast  seen?   The  splendor  of  his  power 
Sent  forth  against  the  wicked ;  his  right  arm 
Cleaving  unbearable  glories,  lifted  high 


348  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  in 
To  hurl  his  chivalry  down  slopes  of  flame 
With  wheels  and  tramplings;  the  wide  threshing- 
floor 

Become  a  furnace ;  drop  by  anguished  drop 
The  oozing  of  the  wine-press  of  his  wrath ; 
The  gross  pulp  cumbering  the  floor  of  the  world, 
The  little  priceless  liquor  chaliced  up, 
Borne  back  'mid  plaining  silver  and  sweet  throats 
For  the  Spirit's  earliest  house-gift  to  the  Bride! 
Thou  would'st  forget  this  gladly,  Raphael? 

RAPHAEL. 
Yes,  yes;  right  gladly. 

MICHAEL. 

Yonder  where  the  fight 

Flung  its  main  sea  of  blood  and  broken  souls 
Into  the  nether  dark,  I  saw  a  youth 
Cling  for  a  moment  to  a  jutting  rock 
And  gaze  back  at  the  angel  shapes  that  rode 
The  neck  of  the  avalanche;  between  the  wings 
Of  the  pale  horse  and  the  red  his  vision  pierced, 
Between  the  ranks  of  spectral  charioteers, 
Supernal  arms  and  banners  prone  for  speed, 
Up  to  the  central  menace  of  the  Hand 
That  launched  that  bulk  of  ruin ;  and  I  saw 


ACT  in]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  349 

A  light  of  mighty  pleasure  fill  his  eyes 
At  all  that  harness  and  dispatch  of  war 
Storming  aslope.    He  laughed  defiance  back 
Ere  down  cascades  of  blood  and  fire  was  flung 
His  body  indistinguishably  damned. 
How  should  this  puny  valor  rise  in  glee 
To  greet  the  power  that  crushed  it,  and  thy  heart, 
Angelically  dowered,  stand  listless  by? 

RAPHAEL. 

Perhaps  for  thinking  on  another  sight. 
After  thy  chivalry  passed  down  and  left 
The  valley-trough  cumbered  and  heaped  with 

death, 

A  broken  girl  o'er-lived  to  find  the  breast 
Her  arms  had  clung  to  in  the  awful  fall 
Strange,  alien,  not  her  lover's  boyish  shape 
She  deemed  she  held,  but  gross  with  years  and 

sins. 

Her  changed  eyes  heavily  a  moment  roamed, 
Then  settled  back  on  his,  the  darkened  mate 
Whom  chance  had  flung  her  at  the  hour  extreme 
In  scornful  bridals.    From  his  brow  she  drew 
The  war-worn  locks,  and  laid  her  kisses  there 
Unutterable  with  life's  Extreme  tenderness. 


350  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  HI 

Hark!  where  thejast  of  those  redeemed  go  by, 

Companioned  of  the  hasting  paranymphs 

Who  hear  afar  the  Spirit  and  the  Bride 

Say  "Come,"  and  see  the  nuptial  torch  alight 

Ere  they  have  put  their  saffron  vesture  on,  - 

Too  eager  for  their  goal  to  join  the  song 

Those  throats  redeemed  raise,   save  that  their 

hearts 

Throb  rhythmic  with  it,  systole  dim 
And  bright  diastole,  with  wax  and  wane 
Of  spirit-splendor  pulsing  to  the  tune. 

REDEEMED  SPIRITS. 
Sing,  as  they  fly  past  below. 

In  the  wilds  of  life  astray, 
Held  far  from  our  delight, 
Following  the  cloud  by  day 
And  the  fire  by  night, 
Came  we  a  desert  way. 
0  Lord,  with  apples  feed  us, 
With  flagons  stay  ! 
By  Thy  still  waters  lead  us  ! 

As  bird  torn  from  the  breast 
Of  mother -cherishings, 
Far  from  the  swaying  nest 


ACT  in]  THE   MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  351 

Dies  for  the  mother  wings, 
So  did  the  birth-hour  wrest 
From  Thy  sweet  will  and  word 
Our  souls  distressed. 
Open  Thy  breast,  thou  Bird  ! 

RAPHAEL. 

Another  neareth,  chill  upon  the  wind; 
Wan  fire-flakes  stain  the  clustering  spires  of  cliff, 
From  ledge  to  shoulder  hapless  echo  clings 

And  falters  up. 

MICHAEL. 

The  pale  one's  homing-song! 
To-day  he  makes  good  harvest,  and  his  voice 
Has  autumn  meanings;  jealously  and  late 
His  steed  foregoes  the  trampled  threshing-stead. 

RAPHAEL. 

Terrible  angel !   Never  until  now 
Have  I  beheld  his  features  through  the  veil 
Of  pallor  that  enwrapped  them ;  now  at  last 
Their  terror  is  distinct,  for  triumph  now 
And  large  appeasement  lights  them  visibly, 
As  o'er  his  horse's  neck  he  strains  for  speed. 

MICHAEL. 
One  flieth  with  him,  rosy-lit  within. 


352  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  in 

RAPHAEL. 

Not  as  the  battailous  breathing  of  thy  mates 
Enrubies  them:  more  vesperine  and  sad. 
'T  will  be  the  lordly  light  of  Uriel,  dimmed. 
Hail,  Uriel !   Quench  thy  speed. 

THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  PALE  HORSE. 
Flying. 

Why  tarry  now? 

God's  acts  are  throughly  complished:  Heaven 

stays 

Till  all  her  sons  be  gathered. 
Flies  past. 

URIEL. 

Alighting. 

Here  I  wait 
To  see  the  swift  reprisals  Man  shall  take. 

MICHAEL. 

Blaspheme  not,  lest  I  hurl  thee  down  to  swell 
The  carrion  sin  that  Raphael  mourns  above! 

RAPHAEL. 

Uriel's  place  is  there,  by  those  pale  heads, 
Those  sightless  eyes  with  awful  question  changed, 
Those  desperate  broken  hands  cheated  in  death 


ACT  in]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  353 

With  poor  embraces  chance  and  alien. 

Not  Uriel's  only, — mine,  and  thine,  and  theirs 

Thy  warrior  mates,  and  chiefly  his  whose  breast 

Bathed  in  some  dawn's  bright  urge  and  wistfulness 

Put  out  this  lovely  fruitage,  this  sweet  vine 

Of  man  the  leaf  and  maid  the  honeyed  flower 

In  mystic  alternation,  and  when  noon 

Spread  clamor  in  the  pulses  of  the  vine, 

Was  pined  and  plucked  it  up!   Not  so  shall  one 

Deal  with  another's,  much  less  with  his  own. 

MICHAEL. 

For  sins  not  to  be  borne  He  cut  them  off. 
Murders,  adulteries,  and  acts  unclean, 
Idolatries,  and  broken  covenants, 
Violent  hearts  and  unconsidering  tongues. 

URIEL. 

The  violence  and  the  unclean  acts  were  his; 
Unto  Himself  himself  brake  covenant; 
Before  the  monstrous  fancies  of  his  heart 
His  heart  made  heathen  mummery  and  song. 
Wherefore  to-day  himself  He  punishes. 

MICHAEL. 

Thy  mouth  uttereth  darkness.  Is  all  dream? 
Human  and  heavenly  deed  unmeaning  both? 


354  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   [ACT  in 

RAPHAEL. 
To  Uriel. 

Brother,  thou  art  all  wisdom,  as  I  know 
And  still  have  proved  rejoicingly,  but  now 
Thy  word  indeed  is  difficult  and  dark. 
Take  not  away  Man's  ancient  dignity, 
The  privilege  and  power  to  elect  his  ways, 
His  kingly  self-possession.    Level  not 
The  head  that  lies  too  low  to-day.   Snatch  not 
From  brows  abased  the  crown  of  personal  will 
Which  made  them  noble,  though  it  brought  them 

down, 

Being  worn  too  carelessly,  too  like  a  wreath 
Of  ivy  or  poppies  meant  for  holiday. 
Man's  agonies  and  ecstasies  obscure 
Were  more  than  shadow-show!    Not  all  in  vain 
His  groping  toward  some  quaint  imagined  good, 
His  blood  shed  for  a  scruple,  his  low  days 

Winged  and  illumined  with  long-suffering  love ! 

t 

URIEL. 

Nay,  not  in  vain  were  these,  though  otherwise 
Bound  with  the  sum  of  things  than  unto  Man 
Seemed  likely,  wearing  that  glad  wreath  he  wore, 
And  going  after  good  the  headstrong  way. 


ACT  in]   THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   355 

RAPHAEL. 
We  wait  to  hear  this  riddling  talk  made  plain. 

URIEL. 

Truth  is  not  soon  made  plain,  nor  in  a  breath 
Fluently  solved  while  the  chance  listener  waits, 
Nor  by  the  elemental  wrestling  mind 
Wrung  from  the  rock  with  sobs.  Myself  have  held, 
Where  in  the  sun's  core  light  and  thought  are  one, 
of  question,  and  am  darkling  still. 


RAPHAEL. 
Speak,  brother,  though  thy  words  be  hard  and 

scant. 
The  candle  flame  goes  far  a  moonless  night. 

URIEL. 

The  worlds  and  all  their  tenantry  are  Him, 
Even  to  the  utmost  archipelagoes 
Gazed  at  by  maritime  angels  ere  they  veer 
Homeward,  awestruck  by  omens  and  sea-signs 
Known  to  no  pilot  of  them,  and  far  off 
Watch  the  scared  islanders  beside  the  straits,  — 
All  these,  and  whatso  lies  beyond  our  hail, 
Are  effluence  of  the  life  that  moves  in  Him, 
Thought  of  his  brain,  wish  of  his  working/  blood: 


356  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  in 

Yet  every  separate  creature  of  his  thought 

Hath  separate  claims  and  separate  potencies. 

Oh,  not  a  sparrow  falleth  to  the  ground 

But  He  regardeth  it!   Since  ere  it  fell 

A  little  gladness  died  away  in  Him. 

And  not  a  creature  sinneth  but  He  weeps 

His  own  sin  with  his  creature's  —  fourfold  pain, 

Since  god  and  creature,  false  each  to  itself, 

Was  false  each  to  the  other.    Not  a  heart 

O'ercometh  evil  and  mounts  up  to  good, 

But  He  o'ercometh  and  is  lifted  too. 

Each   life   of   clay   that   flowered   in  fragrant 

deed, 

Each  grass-blade  that  grew  willingly,  each  bird 
That  through  the  churlish  weather  hoarded  song, 
Not  only  worked  its  own  salvation  out 
But  helped  Him  in  his  old  struggle  with  himself  - 
Or  might  have  helped  —  or  might  have  helped,  it 

seemed.  .  .  . 

RAPHAEL. 
Yet  did  not,  thy  disconsolate  ending  says. 

URIEL. 

Who  shall  dispute  finalities  with  Him? 
Not  Uriel.    But  as  far  as  Uriel  sees, 


ACT  in]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  357 

Salvation  lies  annulled  in  yonder  Vale 
And  prone  are  God's  true  helpers. 

MICHAEL. 

Clay  of  clay! 

Wassailers,  fleshlings,  quarrel-mongers,  thieves 
Of  pleasure,  plighters  of  unholy  troth, 
Mimes,  gypsies,  idol-breakers,  idol-smiths, 
Dervishing  fantasists  —  most  likely  help ! 

URIEL. 

Unlikely :  yet  the  marrow  of  his  bones ; 
Heat  of  the  breath  of  his  mouth;  corpuscles  red 
Energic  in  his  veins,  loud  gainsayers 
Of  death's  insinuating  whisper,  " Peace!"  .  .  . 
Before  the  Heavens  were  spread,  or  He  himself 
Rose  from  his  changeless  and  unpictured  dream, 
These  stirred  in  Him,  demanding  to  be  dowered 
With  individual  shape  and  destiny,  - 
Each  one  a  soul,  yet  each  incorporate 
With  his  great  soul,  which  to  far  happy  ends 
Should  henceforth  in  a  million  shapes  of  will 
Immensely  groan  and  travail,  not  with  tears 
Alone,  but  laughter,  with  singing  as  with  sobs. 
Oh,  many  a  golden  station  on  that  march 
Lie  backward  of  us!  when  the  armed  worlds 


358  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  m 

Broke  leaguer  round  some  conquered  capital, 
And  in  the  pleasure-places  of  its  kings 
Sat  down  to  feast,  the  unhelmed  gleemen  chant 
ing 

Victory  past  and  victory  to  come. 
Let  me  not  darken  thought  with  imagery! 
Still  the  naked  word  escapes  me,  being  too  vast, 
Too  simple,  for  our  little  pictured  speech. 
This  chiefly  I  would  say:  the  restless  joy 
Which  called  God  from  his  sleep  and  bade  his 

hand 

Depict  much  life  and  language  on  the  dark, 
Had  other  aims  and  meanings  than  are  writ 
In  yonder  Valley  for  an  epilogue. 
Man's  violence  was  earnest  of  his  strength, 
His  sin  a  heady  overflow,  dynamic 
Unto  all  lovely  uses,  to  be  curbed 
And  sweetened,  never  broken  with  the  rod! 

RAPHAEL. 

Why  did  He  quench  their  passion?  I  have  walked 
The  rings  of  planets  where  strange-colored  moons 
Hung  thick  as  dew,  in  ocean  orchards  feared 
The  glaucous  tremble  of  the  living  boughs 
Whose  fruit  hath  eyes  and  purpose;  but  nowhere 


ACT  in]    THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  359 

Found  any  law  but  this :  Passion  is  power, 
And,  kindly  tempered,  saves.   All  things  declare 
Struggle  hath  deeper  peace  than  sleep  can  bring: 
The  restlessness  that  put  creation  forth 
Impure  and  violent,  held  holier  calm 
Than  that  Nirvana  whence  it  wakened  Him. 

URIEL. 

This  day  declares  He  deemeth  otherwise. 
The  Shining  Wrestler,  tired  of  strife,  hath  slain 
The  dark  antagonist  whose  enmity 
Gave  Him  rejoicing  sinews;  but  of  Him 
His  foe  was  flesh  of  flesh  and  bone  of  bone; 
With  suicidal  hand  He  smote  him  down : 
Soon  we  shall  feel  His  lethal  pangs  begin. 

RAPHAEL. 

Fiercer  than  those  that  clove  thy  burning  realms 
And   sent   grey   winds   to   waste   the   plains  of 

Heaven 

When  on  the  Cross  He  sought  to  purchase  peace 
And  lure  his  wayward  world  back  to  his  hand ! 

MICHAEL. 

His  lightning  dry  thy  tongue!    Why  should  our 
minds 


36o  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  HI 

Peer  and  conjecture  of  the  danger  past? 
Thou  knowest  what  glory  followeth. 

RAPHAEL. 

Yes,  I  know. 

The    clouds    at    last    rolled    burning    from    the 

Throne 

And  let  us  see  the  risen  wonders  there. 
Again  I  hear  the  gathering  psalmody 
Chant  out  the  clement  tale  —  eternal  God 
Made  clay,  by  hands  of  clay  unto  the  Cross 
Hung  for  a  sign,  that  who  beholding  Him 
Should  find  Him  very  God,  might  dwell  with  us 
In  endless  light  and  life.   Again  I  hear 
The  deep  consenting  chorus  mount  and  merge 
The  wayward  crests  of  treble  into  one; 
But  still  between  the  calling  deeps  of  song 
Vague  and  unacquiescent  hung  my  heart, 
Conning  the  burden  wistfully  anew 
In  hopes  to  find  the  joy  my  comrades  found 
Hid  in  the  dubious  notes.  Vague  hung  my  heart, 
Wistful   as   morning  boughs   that  watch   the 

moon, 

Not  strong  as  now  when  I  have  seen  all  clear 
And  o'er  the  ashes  of  the  world  declare  - 
Listen!  Are  there  not  voices  in  the  Vale? 


ACT  ill]   THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  361 

MICHAEL. 
They  talk  together.   Some  die  not  till  dark. 

RAPHAEL. 
Aye,  until  dark!   T  will  be  a  starless  night. 


ACT   IV 

Time:  evening  of  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

A   rock  in  the  Valley  of  the  Judgment ;  about  the  rock, 

and  filling  the  whole  trough  of  the  valley,  lie  tJie 

bodies  of  the  lost.    Twilight. 

RAPHAEL. 

My  lot  is  cast  with  these :  I  watch  to-night 
Here  islanded  in  death.  Say  me  not  nay: 
Till  from  the  last  lip  anguish  is  unwreathed, 
From  the  last  brow  the  frown  of  horror  fades, 
Here  I  must  sit,  witness  and  comforter 
If  any  more  conspicuous  strengths  survive 
To  mutter  or  make  signal  in  the  dusk. 

MICHAEL. 
Nay,  brother,  stay  not.    Though  thy  words  are 

calm, 

Thy  desperate  eyes  betray  thee;  thou  resolvest 
Some  sudden  irremediable  thing. 
The  past  is  done,  and,  whether  well  or  ill, 
Necessitously.    Put  on  that  robe  of  song 
Woven  of  youngest  light  and  over-runed 


ACT  iv]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  363 

With  flickerings  of  the  golden  elder  speech, 

Wherein  thou  led'st  the  lily  souls  along 

Choregic  o'er  the  unclouded  psalmody 

And  wert  so  starry  long  agone!   Arise! 

My  soul  is  heavy  at  thee.    Thou  art  wan ; 

Thine  eyes  are  dull  yet  wild,  even  as  these 

Who  lie  involved  and  heaped  along  the  Vale 

Seeming  in  death  to  threaten  and  to  rave. 

Arise  and  come  away!   Why  tarry  here 

To  mourn  above  these  outcast,  since  the  fan 

Hath  winnowed  them  and  left  no  righteous  one? 

Rather  arise,  make  glad  thy  countenance, 

And  through  the  courts  of  day  let  herald  throats 

Softly  declare  thy  coming,  virgin  hands, 

From  that  oraculous  tree  whose  leaves'are  tongues, 

Laurel  thee  best  of  Heaven's  lutanists 

And  seat  thee  at  the  minstrel-hand  of  God. 

RAPHAEL. 

• 

You  urge  me  well.    I  think  my  songs  to-night 
Would  cheer  their  festivals:  I  have  a  theme 
Of  very  present  gladness,  deeply  conned. 
But  if  amid  the  gratulating  chant, 
If  through  3  the  dances  orbed  and  interorbed, 
Furnished  with  solemn  symbol  and  device, 


364  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  iv 

Perchance  there  stole  a  quite  unfurnished  shape 

Nakedly  risen  from  this  company? 

Holding  up  horrible  accusing  hands 

Against  the  nuptial  light?  That  were  scarce  well. 

I  fear  my  lute  would  glance  and  jangle  off 

To  themes  as  good  unsung.    Hark! 

MICHAEL. 

'T  was  a  voice, 
Not  distant. 

RAPHAEL. 

Nay,  't  is  yonder,  —  he  who  lies 
Half  lifted  from  the  jetsam  of  this  sea 
Across  that  ragged  reef.   Another,  hush! 
A  woman's  voice,  was  't  not?   And  see,  below  — 
That  aged  throat  would  fain  articulate.  .  .  . 
They  taste  sweet  speech  ere  the  long  silence  comes. 

A  YOUTH'S  VOICE. 

Do  any  live  but  me?   Do  any  wake  to  hear 
A  word  spoke  in  the  dark  before  I  die? 

AN  OLD  MAN. 
An  old  and  wakeful  spirit  rests  thee  near. 

A  YOUNG  WOMAN. 
Long  had  I  lain  asleep,  but  wakened  at  thy  cry. 


ACT  iv]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  365 

THE  YOUTH. 

Not  all  discourteous  is  the  Conqueror's  heart, 
Since  now  of  that  good  strength  I  wore  at  noon 
Ebbs  back  a  little  part. 

OLD  MAN. 

Enough  to  syllable  thy  soul's  young  scorn, 
Though  all  unripe,  unwise; 
And  haply  rouse  some  one  of  these  that  lie 
Fixing  the  dark  with  undivining  eyes 
Of  human  wit  and  seemliness  forlorn, 
To  speak  their  separate  word  or  unto  thine  reply. 

THE  YOUTH. 

A  song  of  scorn  I  minded  to  have  sung, 
But  all  the  words  are  faded  from  my  tongue. 
Mysteriously  withdrawn, 
Out  of  this  desolation  I  am  gone 
Aloft  into  the  light  of  other  days. 
My  heart  runs  naked  in  the  wind,  more  fleet 
Than  are  my  flying  feet, 

Above  the  misty  foss  and  up  the  mountain  lawn 
To  seek  the  place  of  Morning  where  she  stays. 
The  silver  summits  held  across  the  dawn 
By  some  gigantic  arm,  like  wrought  candelabras, 
Kindle  their  wicks  of  praise 


366  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  iv 

To  light  the  temple  builded  not  with  hands 

Above  the  prostrate  lands, 

And  the  religious  winds,  song-stoled, 

Pacing  the  mighty  nave 

Fill  azure  dome  and  star-held  architrave 

With  hymns  unto  the  gods  that  grow  not  old,  — 

Lords  of  the  joy  of  life  made  known 

Not  unto  gods  alone, 

But  perfectly  to  man  and  beast  and  stone, 

And  by  the  atomies  with  rapture  shared, 

But  ne'er  by  poet's  golden  mouth 

Nor  by  the  west  wind  singing  to  the  south 

Fitly  declared. 

Oh,  for  a  voice 

Here  in  the  doors  of  death 

To  speak  the  praise  of  life,  existence  mere, 

The  simple  come  and  go  of  natural  breath, 

And  habitation  of  the  body's  house  with  its  five 

windows  clear! 

O  souls  defeated,  broken,  and  undone, 
Rejoice  with  me,  rejoice 

That  we  have  walked  beneath  the  moon  and  sun 
Not  churlishly,  nor  slanderous  of  the  bliss; 
But  rather  leaving  this 


ACT  iv]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  367 

To  the  many  prophets  strict  and  sedulous 

Of  that  sad-spoken  god 

Who  now  hath  conquered  and  is  surely  king, 

Have  given  our  lips  for  life  to  closely  kiss, 

Have  heard  the  sweet  persuasion  of  the  sod 

And  been  heart-credulous 

To  trust  the  signs  and  whispers  of  the  spring. 

SECOND  YOUTH. 

Various  the  reasons  why  we  could  not  pay 
The  price  exacted  from  us! 

My  ear,  though  fain,  I  might  have  turned  away 
From  spring's  love-startled  promise, 
I  might  have  given  up  the  glorious  sea 
And  the  majestic  mountains  might  for  me 
Have  ceased  to  be; 

God,  with  one  sudden  rinsing  of  his  hand, 
Might  have  wiped  bare 
The  earth-ball  of  its  deeds  and  pageantries, 
Yea,  even  of  light  and  air, 
That  on  the  stark  circumference  I  might  stand 
And  choose  deliberately,  unvexed  of  these, 
Between  my  will  and  his. 

Then  I  had  said,  with  cheerful  voice  and  strong, 
Somewhat  dismayed,  yet  with  a  cheerful  voice, 


368  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  iv 

"This  many  days,  Lord,  I  have  thought  it  long 

Till  I  could  put  away  creation's  noise, 

The  tragic  streets,  the  poignant  drip  of  rains, 

But  chiefly  the  loud  speaking  in  my  veins 

Concerning  this  and  that  desirable. 

Now  you  have  put  me  in  a  quiet  place, 

Take  but  away  your  too  expectant  face, 

And  all  shall  then  be  well. 

Then  I  can  ponder,  as  I  meant  to  do 

And  as  I  singly  long  since  thought  was  mine, 

The  mysteries  divine; 

Make  quiet  proof  of  you 

If  you  be  verily  my  lord  or  no, 

And,  having  found  you  to  be  truly  so, 

Shall  understand  for  sooth, 

That  down  the  eternities  I  may  launch  my  mind 

Not  as  a  tame  hawk  haggard  down  the  wind, 

Whom  huntsman's  cry  pursueth, 

But  as  an  eagle  without  bell  or  jess, 

Obedient  alone  to  his  soul's  lordliness. 

THIRD  YOUTH. 

Better  with  captives  in  the  slaver's  pen 
Hear  women  sob,  and  sit  with  cursing  men, 
Yea,  better  here  among  these  writhen  lips, 


ACT  iv]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  369 

Than  pluck  out  from  the  blood  its  old  companion 
ships. 
If  God  had  set  me  for  one  hour  alone, 

Apart  from  clash  of  sword 

f 

And  trumpet- pealed  word, 

I  think  I  should  have  fled  unto  his  throne. 

But  always  ere  the  dayspring  took  the  sky, 

Somewhere  the  silver  trumpets  were  aery,  — 

Sweet,  high,  oh,  high  and  sweet! 

What  voice  could  summon  so  but  the  soul's  Para 
clete? 

Whom  should  such  voices  call  but  me,  to  dare  and 
die? 

O  ye  asleep  here  in  the  eyrie  town, 

Ye  mothers,  babes,  and  maids,  and  aged  men, 

The  plain  is  full  of  f oemen !  Turn  again  - 

Sleep  sound,  or  waken  half 

Only  to  hear  our  happy  bugles  laugh 

Lovely  defiance  down, 

As  through  the  steep 

Grey  streets  we  sweep, 

Each  horse  and  man  a  ribbed  fan  to  scatter  all 
that  chaff! 

How  from  the  lance-shock  and  the  griding  sword 
Untwine  the  still  small  accents  of  the  Lord? 


370  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  iv 

How  hear  the  Prince  of  Peace  and  Lord  of  Hosts 

Speak  from  the  zenith  'mid  his  marshalled  ghosts, 

" Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay; 

Cease  thou  and  come  away!" 

Or  having  seen  and  harkened,  how  refrain 

From  crying,  heart  and  brain, 

"So,  Lord,  Thou  sayest  it,  Thine  — 

But  also  mine,  ah,  surely  also  mine! 

Else  why  and  for  what  good 

This  strength  of  arm  my  father  got  for  me 

By  perfect  chastity, 

This  glorious  anger  poured  into  my  blood 

Out  of  my  mother's  depths  of  ardency?  " 

A  CONFUSED  VOICE. 
Not  very  long  to-day 

Thy  arm  held  back  the  mischief  of  the  tide! 
Thou  could 'st  not  check  the  play 
Of  scythes,  the  awful  chariots  beside! 
Thy  blood  has  ebbed  a  little  from  its  pride. 

A  GIRL'S  VOICE. 

I  waited  patiently  and  thought  to  hear 
The  secret  reason  dark, 
The  secret  reason  dark  and  dear 


ACT  iv]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  371 

Why  none  of  us  had  heart  to  mark 

The  pale  evangel  whispering  from  the  sphere. 

For  oft  the  moon  between  the  garden  boughs 

Her  looks  of  summer  longing  would  efface, 

And  come  to  be  a  halo  round  the  brows 

Of  Him  who  died  to  give  the  sinner  grace, 

Now  saddening  o'er  His  purchase  from  that  place. 

And  oft  at  dawn  I  heard  the  Sons  of  Morning 

Silvered  with  lovely  menace  fill  the  sky, 

And  heard  their  solemn  lips  deliver  warning 

What  time  the  central  singer  lifted  high, 

In  the  deep  hush  twixt  ode  and  palinode, 

The  sangrael  of  the  sun,  brimmed  with  redeeming 

blood. 

But  how  might  I  attend  the  minatory 
Voices  of  many  angels  breathing  doom, 
When  from  the  window  of  the  little  room 
My  love's  face  had  not  faded,  and  the  story 
His  wakeful  mouth  had  whispered  in  the  gloom 
Spake  in  my  pulses  yet?  And  how  at  evening  turn 
To  feel  those  sad  eyes  down  the  moonlight  yearn, 
When  mouth  to  mouth  and  breast  to  aching  breast 
I  held  my  lover  close,  and  by  his  nest 
The  nightingale,  scarce  master  of  his  mood, 
Now  after  faint  essay 


372  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  IV 

And  amorous  dim  delay 

Suddenly  steeped  his  heart  in  song's  mad  pleni 
tude? 

A  WOMAN'S  VOICE. 

What  unripe  girl  is  this  who  maketh  bold 
To  speak  for  lovers  at  the  extreme  hour, 
Yet  fancy-paints  the  flower? 
Yet  hides  with  image-gilt  the  naked  gold?, 
O  sisters,  brothers,  help  me  to  arise! 
Of  God's  two-horned  throne  I  will  lay  hold 
And  let  Him  see  my  eyes; 
That  He  may  understand  what  love  can  be, 
And  raise  his  curse,  and  set  his  children  free. 

ANOTHER  WOMAN'S  VOICE. 
My  life  was  a  rank  venomed  weed 
And  hers,  I  think,  a  flower; 
But  my  harsh  voice  shall  have  a  power 
Fiercer  than  hers  to  plead. 
About  his  knees  with  curses  I  will  cling, 
My  veins  I  will  break  open,  till  He  see 
The  barb  of  the  intolerable  sting, 
The  tongues  of  the  immitigable  fire 
He  planted  there  to  fret  and  fumble  through  me, 
To  craze  and  to  undo  me, 


ACT  iv]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  373 

Till  on  the  cruel  altars  where  He  threw  me 
I  slew  my  heart's  desire! 

OLD  MAN. 

Of  double  fetters  be  not  fain,  my  child, 
To  these  thou  wearest  be  thou  reconciled. 
Spread  not  before  his  dark  averted  gaze 
(Now  that  He  holds  his  hand  and  seemeth  satis 
fied) 

The  love  that  called  you  unappointed  ways 
And  filled  your  hearts  with  pride. 
A  little  while  He  left  you  free 
In  passion's  privilege 
To  god  it  on  the  peaks  of  personality, 
But  ye  have  walked  too  near  the  hither  edge. 

Yet  once  I  thought  — 

My  old  heart  meekened  to  an  evening  mood 

By  dint  of  years  and  much  beatitude  — 

He  was  not  jealous  as  the  prophet  taught, 

Nor  loving-tolerant  as  mild  teachers  held 

But  swayed  to  mystical  participation 

Of  various  delight 

By  every  chrysalid's  meandering  flight 

And  million-footed  onset  of  heroic  nation ; 


374  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  iv 

To  instant  joy  impelled 

By  every  jet  of  life  that  from  Time's  fountain 

quelled. 

So  deemed  I,  musing  on  the  headstrong  glee 
Of  children  at  my  knee, 
But  He  ordained  his  ways  after  another  fashion. 

FOURTH  YOUTH. 

'T  was  not  the  lover  nor  the  warrior  stirred 

His  jealous  arm  to  smite, 

Nor  he  who  longed  to  launch  forth  as  a  bird 

In  far  and  lonely  flight 

To  seek  the  truth  of  things,  nor  he  who  heard 

The  choral  winds  in  Nature's  temple  chaunting. 

All  these  He  could  endure, 

Since  his  creation  and  its  furniture 

They  merely  used,  nor  vexed  his  ears  with  vaunt 
ing 

Themselves  creators  too 

And  fashioners  of  worlds,  and  pilots  of  them 
flaunting 

Beside  his  in  the  blue.  « 

But  some  there  were  infatuate,  audacious, 

To  whom  the  world's  vast  girth 

Seemed  niggard  and  unspacious; 


ACT  iv]  TtfE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  375 

Who,  having  clambered  or  been  borne  on  wings 

Above  the  realms  of  sense 

From  off  God's  secret  altars  ravished  thence 

The  plastic  fire  of  his  imaginings 

And  brought  it  down  to  earth. 

Then,  pale  with  supernatural  intention, 

We  builders  of  the  over-world  arose, 

And  softly  to  their  houses  of  ascension, 

Orbing  as  soft  as  April  buds  unclose, 

But  bowelled  of  the  furious  lava-stream, 

Star  after  ordered  star  went  up  the  heavens  of 

dream : 

Each  from  the  other  ever  differing, 
Glory  from  glory, 

And  each  a  world  summed  and  replete 
With  all  the  human  heart  forebodeth  well 
Or  hoardeth  to  repeat 
Of  tragical  and  sweet 
In  earthly  summer  and  the  mortal  spring 
And  man's  peculiar  story, 
Yet  by  the  mind  made  an  immortal  thing, 
Patiently  purged  and  weaned  of  its  corruptible. 

Oh,  how  should  Man  into  the  dust  be  trod, 
Who  is  himself  a  god? 


376  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  iv 

How  should  the  lord  of  each  enchanted  isle 

For  gazing  on  a  brother  god's  high  sacrificial 

sorrow 

Say  himself  low  and  vile, 
Or  for  that  Sufferer's  sake 
Teen  to  his  own  undarkened  being  borrow, 
And  in  a  gloom  of  abnegation  break 
The  wand  wherewith  he  summoned  from  their 

sleep 

The  whirlwinds  of  the  everlasting  deep, 
And  souls  of  men  and  spirits  of  lost  hours 
And  spring's  sequestered  firstlings,  the  sky  flowers, 
Bound  to  his  golden  powers? 

MICHAEL. 

I  wait  no  longer  on  their  stammering  tongues ! 
Once  more  I  pray  thee  rise  and  come  away. 
The  Valley  darkens  fast,  and  Heaven  stays 
Thy  single  voice  to  make  its  concord  full. 

RAPHAEL. 

These  voices  we  have  hearkened  lack  as  well, 
To  make  such  concord  as  I  care  to  hear. 

MICHAEL. 

Then  curse  thee  for  a  stubborn  heart !  —  Nay,  nay, 
I  will  not  curse  thee  whom  I  love.         .  Take  heed 


ACT  IV]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  377 

Lest  any  wing  patrolling  in  the  dark, 
Mistaking  thee  for  one  of  these,  should  smite. 

RAPHAEL. 

Already  from  the  deeps  approacheth  one, 
Staining  the  limbs  and  faces  of  the  dead 
With  amber  as  he  flies.  What  clime  has  blown 
Azaziel's  radiance  to  so  blear  a  tinct? 

AZAZIEL. 

Flying  past. 

Woe!  Woe!  unto  the  dwellers  in  this  Vale. 
Woe  unto  them  who  wait  the  second  death! 
Prepare  to  meet  the  Worm  that  dieth  not ! 

RAPHAEL. 
Azaziel,  hear!  What  meaneth  .  .  .   ? 

MICHAEL. 

He  is  past, 

Bearing  his  message  further.   How  it  sobs 
And  falters  on  the  wind ! 

RAPHAEL. 

In  the  deeps  begins 
A  myriad  lamentation.  .  .  . 

MICHAEL. 

Nearer  now, 

And  mixed  with  keener  individual  cry.  .  .  . 


378  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  iv 

RAPHAEL. 

The  sea  of  death  sways  moaning  and  recoils, 
Bristling  with  serried  surf  of  forms  uplift, 
Postures  of  supplication  and  despair, 
Forlorn  attitudes! 

MICHAEL. 

From  the  starless  sky 

A  star  shoots  screaming,  hushes  in  mid-flight, 
And  stands  at  gaze  above  the  vasty  caves, 
The  canons  and  the  aged  wells  of  dark 
Toward  which  this  Valley  plunges. 

RAPHAEL. 

Far  below 

Disastrous  splendor  glares  above  the  abyss, 
And  in  the  midst  a  bulk  of  sinuous  shade 
That  lifts  and  swings  a  snaky  head  aloft 
Surveying  where  to  strike.  .  .  . 

MICHAEL. 

Away!  Away! 

Even  now  his  pendulous  neck  doth  sweep  the 

Vale 

From  wall  to  wall,  incredibly  advanced 
Leagues  hither,  though  his  lewder  folds  are  still 
Hid  backward  in  the  abyss.   Away!  Away! 


ACT  iv]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  379 

From  yonder  peak  we  may  behold  all  safe : 
To  linger  here  even  spirits  dare  not. 

RAPHAEL. 

Go; 

I  tarry.   Let  me  take  thy  mighty  sword. 
A  minstrel 's  hand  can  swing  a  blade  at  need. 

MICHAEL. 

Not  so.   Forgive  me  this  my  violence! 
Thy  soul  is  all  distraught  and  desperate, 
And  I  must  save  thee  in  thine  own  despite. 

He  overpowers  Raphael,  and  bears  him  aloft  just  as  the 
enormous  swinging  head  of  the  Serpent  blots  out  the 
scene. 


ACT  V.  SCENE   I 

Time :  as  in  Act  IV. 

An  exposed  upland :  one  side  looks  down  into  the  Val 
ley  of  the  Judgment,  on  the  others  the  snow-peaks 
fade  into  the  visionary  cliffs  and  slopes  crowned  by 
the  battlements  of  Heaven.  Sunset  glow  still  lingers 
on  the  heights  :  the  moon  is  rising. 

RAPHAEL. 

Awaking. 

Where  are  we,  brother?   I  remember  naught. 

MICHAEL. 
Safe  lifted  o'er  the  Vale,  and  none  too  soon. 

RAPHAEL. 
Help  me  to  rise. 

MICHAEL. 
Nay,  rest  thee  yet  a  while. 

RAPHAEL. 

Something  of  portent  passes  in  the  Vale  — 
I  cannot  well  recall,  but  know  't  is  so 
By  thy  wild  looking.   Can  thy  vision  pierce 


ACTV]    THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    381 

So  downward  through  the  mists?   Mine  eyes  are 

weak 
And  blink  at  the  mild  moon. 

MICHAEL. 

Spare  thou  to  look. 

Even  me  it  grieveth,  thee  it  will  destroy 
With  present  heart-break. 

RAPHAEL. 

O  remembrance  now 
Creeps   moaning   through   the   sea-halls   of   my 

mind,  — 
A  sluggish  neap,  with  loss  and  wreckage  strewn ! 

MICHAEL. 

The  Serpent  enters  now  that  last  defile 
High  lifted  toward  the  spiritual  hills. 
Behind  him  as  he  came  has  silence  fallen 
And  gesture  ceased:  final  ineloquence. 
These  hither  people  are  the  lesser  thewed 
But  more  inspirited,  who  held  the  fight 
Vanward  against  us,  and  who  fell  the  first 
Before  the  whirlwind  of  our  going  down. 

RAPHAEL. 
Is  it  too  late  to  save  this  remnant  few 


382  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   [ACT  v 

For  seed  of  a  new  world,  planted  afar 
Beyond  this  trouble?  Come,  thy  might  and  mine! 
He  lifts  a  questioning  head  and  seems  to  stand 
Hesitant  at  the  mouth  of  the  defile: 
There  give  him  battle.  .  .  .' 

MICHAEL. 

Nay. 

RAPHAEL. 

Then  I  alone. 

MICHAEL. 

Too  late;  and  even  if  sooner,  much  too  late! 
He  brings  the  second  death ;  his  fangs  have  power, 
'T  is  whispered,  on  the  flaming  seraphim 
To  tarnish  or  to  quench ;  one  venom  fleck 
Flung  from  his  jaws,  how  might  it  lame  and  scar 
Our  substance  archangelical. 

RAPHAEL. 

Yes,  yes, 

You  give  me  reasons  to  it.    Lovelier 
Such  scars  upon  the  breast,  though  mortal  proven, 
Than  that  fair  sigil  set  upon  thy  brow 
The  morn  of  thy  first  victory.   Why  live, 
Why  live,  when  all  these  wills  that  searched  the 
earth  — 


ACT  v]    THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    383 

Until  they  found  their  one  and  inward  love, 
Refusing  to  be  still  —  have  ceased  to  search, 
Though  quite  unsatisfied?  To  feel  the  night 
Unvexed  of  longing,  and  the  day  purged  blank 
Of  laughter  and  of  sorrow  and  of  brawl ; 
No  pride  of  life  to  glory  in  the  sun, 
No  ecstasy  to  mate  the  moon's  increase, 
No  heart  interpreting  the  twilight  thrush  - 
All  the  heart's  business  done !   Nay,  not  for  me ! 
Mine  ear  hath  lain  too  long  on  Nature's  pulse, 
I  cannot  miss  that  music.   Let  me  go. 

MICHAEL. 
Still  detaining  him. 

Govern   thy   heart   and    tongue.   Nature,    thou 

knowest, 

Was  but  a  bye-thought  of  the  Eternal  Mind, 
A  whim  —  extravagant,  repented  of, 
And  now  in  its  chief  element  of  Man 
Annihilate  and  put  away,  save  those 
Who  rendered  up  their  wills  to  His,  and  share 
This  night  with  Him  the  immortal  quietudes. 

Lo,  where  the  Serpent  enters!  Quick  and  dead 
Loosen  their  maimed  embraces.  From  beneath 
Heaves  the  incumbent  carnage.  In  the  clefts 


384    THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    [ACT  v 

And  on  the  headlands  scattered  souls  arise 
Expectant  or  imploring  .  .  .  Now  he  reigns 
Instant  among  them,  and  their  sayings-nay 
Decrease  and  come  to  nothing. 

RAPHAEL. 

All  is  done: 

The  great  refusal  made.   The  wayward  heats 
That  might  have  moved  God's  blood  to  sweetest 

ends 

In  dreams  and  deed,  have  bled  themselves  away, 
And  peace  is  his,  though  profitless. 

MICHAEL. 

Hush!  Look! 
The  Worm  goes  on!  . 

RAPHAEL. 

What  say 'st  thou?  Speak! 
Mine  eyes  are  still  too  dim,  I  see  not  well 
What  passes  'neath  the  drifting  fogs. 

MICHAEL. 

He  mounts! 

He  lays  his  length  upward  the  visioned  hills, 
The  inviolable  fundaments  of  Heaven! 
There  where  he  climbs  the  kindled  slopes  grow 
pale, 


ACT  v]    THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT   385 

Ashen  the  amethystine  dells,  and  dim 

The  starry  reaches.  .  .  .  Now  he  coils  his  bull 

About  a  foreland,  and  the  nacrous  light 

It  beetled  with  turns  cinder.   High  he  piles 

His  folds,  and  seems  to  note  the  upward  way. 

Hark,  the  trump  sings  to  battle!   I  am  called. 

He  flies  upward  toward  the  walls  of  Heaven. 

RAPHAEL. 

Alone. 

*» 

O  darkest  creature  of  God's  shaping  thought, 
Shamefulest  born,  in  that  unsacred  hour 
When,  pining  for  the  pools  of  ancient  sloth, 
His  soul  repenteth  Him  that  He  had  made 
Man,  and  had  put  that  passion  out  to  use! 
C leaves t  thou  inward  now  to  find  the  heart 
That  bore  thee  shuddering  and  hath  fostered  thee 
With  secret  sweat  of  agonizing  brows? 
Has  this  day's  great  defection  armed  thy  fang 
And  lit  thy  wrath  to  seek  Him  where  He  sits 
Sickening  amid  his  harsh-established  peace? 

On  which  side  then  shall  Raphael  be  found,  - 
The  sociable  spirit,  very  friend  of  man 
And  Nature's  old-time  lover?  Surely  there 
At  God's  right  hand,  with  a  loud  song  for  sword 


386    THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    [ACT  v 

To  beat  the  Spectre  back  when  armies  fail, 
And  cheer  Him  as  the  shepherd  Israel's  king. 
He  flies  after  Michael. 

ACT  V.    SCENE  II 

Raphael  stands  on  a  promontory  of  the  cloudy  slope 
up  which  the  Serpent  has  passed.  The  Valley  of  tJie 
Judgment  lies  far  below. 

RAPHAEL. 

A  mortal  weariness  beats  down  my  wing; 
I  cannot  farther.   Here  I  must  remain, 
Whether  I  will  or  no  a  truant  still, 
While  battle  rages  round  the  heart  of  God,  — 
A  recreant  on  the  very  slopes  where  first 
With  wistful  feet  from  Heaven  adventuring 
I  sought  those  little  flowers  of  shyest  light 
Whose  earthy  hue  and  palpitance  would  speak 
A  wild  distress  of  sweetness,  till  my  blood 
Sang  wander-songs,  and  pictured  to  itself 
The  happy  outland  chances  of  the  spring. 
I  think  none  grow  now  in  the  muted  dells 
Nor  on  the  chidden  reaches;  yet —  perhaps  — 
If  I  should  search  as  earnestly  as  once.  .  .  . 


ACTV]    THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    387 

My  mind  strays  like  a  fevered  child's  to-night 
And  plays  with  leaves  and  straws,  regarding  not 
How  fate  comes  on  next  instant !  .  .  .  Not  alone, 
Not  all  companionless  must  I  abide 
Its  coming,  love  be  praised  who  sends  me  love 
And  comradeship  now  at  my  dearest  need ! 
For  hither  through  the  wintry  windelstrae 
Flee,  veer,  and  flee  a  fluttered  company 
With  hands  outstretched  and  groping.   Woman 
kind, 

By  the  lorn  influence  that  companions  them 
And  hangs  grief  in  the  wind.  ...  A  taper's  flame 
Streams   backward   o'er   each    trembling   hand. 

T  will  be 

The  seven  dear  sister  spirits  ancillary 
Who  tend  their  lamps  of  laud  before  the  Throne. 

Stay,  sisters,  stay !  They  swerve  aside  and  flee 
More  terror-stricken  still.    I  prithee  stay; 
'T  is  Raphael  calls ! 

FIRST  LAMP. 

O  then  art  thou  too  fled? 
Haste,  let  us  flee  together!  We  had  thought 
All  but  the  timid  spirits  still  abode 
The  battle's  outcome.   Timid  thou  art  not, 


388   THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    [ACT  v 

Though  woman-gentle;  is  the  battle  lost? 
Or  won?  Oh,  surely  won,  since  thou  art  here. 

RAPHAEL. 

I  come  from  earthward.   Mortal  weariness 
Beat  down  my  wing,  and  I  was  forced  to  stay. 
How  goes  the  struggle? 

FIRST  LAMP. 

In  and  in  it  stormed 

From  ring  to  lessening  ring,  until  we  fled, 
I  and  the  sister  Lamps,  save  only  one, 
Our  meekest  and  most  patient  flame  of  praise, 
Whom  naught  could  make  afraid.   Now  by  the 

wind 
Distract,  we  wander  on  these  withered  hills. 

SECOND  LAMP. 
How  withered  from  the  day  thou  brought'st  us 

hence 

Flowers  for  our  lampads !  —  tiny  troublous  things 
That  living  pierced  us  with  a  faint  unrest 
And  dying  left  a  nameless  woe  behind. 

RAPHAEL. 

Call  up  each  sweetness  over-lived,  for  soon 
Sweet  shall  be  sweet  no  more,  nor  sad  be  sad. 


ACT  v]    THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    389 

Momently  yonder  Heaven's  heart  of  light 
Throbs  feebler,  and  the  dark  gains  on  the  day. 

Now  where  he  runs  afar,,  the  sun  hath  felt 
Sharp  pangs  delay  his  feet,  for  swiftly  hither 
In  the  distressful  beaming  of  the  moon 
Comes  on  the  wasted  light  of  Uriel. 

URIEL. 

Approaching. 

The  dream  is  done!   Petal  by  petal  falls 
The  coronal  of  creatured  bloom  God  wove 
To  deck  his  brows  at  dawn. 

RAPHAEL. 

No  hope  remains? 
URIEL. 

To  save  Him  from  himself  not  cherubim 
Nor  seraphim  avail.   Who  loves  not  life 
Receiveth  not  life's  gifts  at  any  hand. 

RAPHAEL. 
And  life  He  loved  not,  though  it  sprang  from  Him? 

URIEL. 
He  loved  it  not  entirely,  good  and  ill. 

RAPHAEL. 
For  what  end  should  we  love  an  evil  thing? 


390  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT    [ACT  v 

URIEL. 

Better  than  I  thou  knowest,  truant  soul ! 
Who  all  the  summer  hours  didst  love  to  stoop 
O'er  insect  feuds,  herb-whisperings,  and  watch 
The  prurient-fingered  sap  startle  the  trees 
To  sudden  laughter  of  bloom.   Better  than  I 
Thou  knowest  what  lewd  rebellion  stings  the  core 
Of  nature,  bidding  every  seed  awake 
To  sacramental  life  after  its  kind; 
Better  than  I  thou  knowest  what  cruelties 
Rage  round  about  each  starry  heroism, 
Out  of  what  murky  stuff  the  lover  builds 
His  soul's  white  habitation.   'T  is  not  mine 
To  lesson  thee  how  height  and  depth  are  bound 
So  straitly  that  when  evil  dies,  as  soon 
Good  languishes,  nor  how  the  flesh  and  soul 
Quicken  with  striving,  and  when  strife  is  done 
Decline  from  what  they  were. 

RAPHAEL. 

Would  He  had  dared 

To  nerve  each  member  of  his  mighty  frame  - 
Man,  beast,  and  tree,  and  all  the  shapes  of  will 
That  dream  their  darling  ends  in  clod  and  star — 
To  everlasting  conflict,  wringing  peace 


ACT  V]  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  391 

From  struggle,  and  from  struggle  peace  again, 

Higher  and  sweeter  and  more  passionate 

With    every    danger    passed!  Would    He    had 

spared 

That  dark  Antagonist  whose  enmity 
Gave  Him  rejoicing  sinews,  for  of  Him 
His  foe  was  flesh  of  flesh  and  bone  of  bone, 
With  suicidal  hand  He  smote  him  down, 
And  now  indeed  His  lethal  pangs  begin. 

FIRST  LAMP. 
To  Uriel. 

Brother,  what  lies  beyond  this  trouble?  Death? 

URIEL. 
All  live  in  Him,  with  Him  shall  all  things  die. 

SECOND  LAMP. 
And  the  snake  reign,  coiled  on  the  holy  hill? 

URIEL. 
Sorrow  dies  with  the  heart  it  feeds  upon. 

RAPHAEL. 

Look,  where  the  red  volcano  of  the  fight 
Hath  burst,  and  down  the  violated  hills 
Pours  ruin  and  repulse,  a  thousand  streams 
Choked  with  the  pomp  and  furniture  of  Heaven. 


392  THE  MASQUE  OF  JUDGMENT  [ACT  v 

In  vain  the  Lion  ramps  against  the  tide, 
In  vain  from  slope  to  slope  the  giant  Wraths 
Rally  but  to  be  broken.   Dwindling  dim 
Across  the  blackened  pampas  of  the  wind 
The  routed  Horses  flee  with  hoof  and  wing, 
Till  their  trine  light  is  one,  and  now  is  quenched. 

URIEL. 

The  spirits  fugitive  from  Heaven's  brink 
Put  off  their  substance  of  ethereal  fire 
And  mourn  phantasmal  on  the  phantom  alps. 

FOURTH  LAMP. 

Mourn,  sisters!  For  our  light  is  fading  too. 
Thou  of  the  topaz  heart,  thoii  of  the  jade, 
And  thou  sweet  trembling  opal  —  ye  are  grown 
Grey  things,  and  aged  as  God's  sorrowing  eyes. 

FIRST  LAMP. 
My  wick  burns  blue  and  dim. 

SECOND  LAMP. 

My  oil  is  spent. 

RAPHAEL. 

The  moon  smoulders;  and  naked  from  their  seats^ 
The  stars  arise  with  lifted  hands,  and  wait. 


THE    DEATH   OF    EVE 
&  fragment 


THE  DEATH  OF  EVE 

ACT   I 

A  rocky  mountain  slope  rising  on  the  left  by  rude  stone 
stairs  towards  Cain  s  stronghold  in  Nod,  dimly  dis 
cerned  above.  On  the  right  and  toward  the  rear  the 
scene  falls  away  to  a  wide  desert  country.  In  the 
foreground,  on  the  lowest  level  of  a  terraced  plat leau, 
is  a  rudely  sculptured  well-curb.  Behind  this,  on  a 
higher  level,  a  stone  seat,  known  as  the  Seat  of  Sup 
plication,  faces  the  Mercy-Seat,  a  throne  of  the  same 
primitive  type,  carved  from  the  living  rock.  The 
mountain  stair,  which  rises  behind  the  Mercy-Seat 
toward  the  distant  city,  is  barred,  at  a  higher  eleva 
tion,  by  a  stone  gateway. 

On  the  Seat  of  Supplication  sits  Eve,  shrouded.  Her 
hand  rests  on  the  shoulder  ofjubal,  who  sits  at  her 
feet.  As  the  scene  progresses, the  sky  gradually  fades, 
then  flushes  with  the  colors  of  a  tropical  sunset. 

EVE. 
Yea,  Jubal? 

JUBAL. 

Nothing,  mother. 


396  THE   DEATH  OF  EVE         [ACT  I 

EVE. 

Thy  lips  moved; 

The  hand  upon  thy  knee  rose  as  in  question, 
And  fell  as  in  reply. 

JUBAL. 
I  slept;  I  dreamed. 

EVE. 

Sleep  yet;  the  heat  is  strong. 
Pause. 

JUBAL. 

I  dreamed  he  came 

At  sunset  here  unto  the  Strangers'  well 
To  know  us  and  our  errand. 

EVE. 

Soon  or  late, 
They  say;  his  custom. 

JUBAL. 

Aye,  they  say  it  is. 

But  why  should  travelers  seeking  to  great  Cain, 
Wayfarers,  weaponed  only  with  their  hands, 
Or  come,  as  now,  in  love  and  duty  to  him  — ? 

EVE. 
I  know  not.    T  is  his  pleasure. 


ACT  I]         THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  397 

JUBAL. 

And  't  is  thine, 

Being,  O  mother,  even  what  thou  art 
And  hast  been  what  thou  hast  been  —  't  is  thy 

will 

To  hide  thy  name,  to  wait  obscurely  here, 
Where  at  Cain's  feet  the  desert  suppliants 
Kneel  to  unload  their  wrongs ! 

EVE. 

Question  it  not. 

JUBAL. 
But  I  must  wonder. 

EVE. 

Wonder  not  either. 

JUBAL. 

Nay, 
I  will  not  then. 

Pause. 

At  home  't  will  be  the  hour 

When  the  parched  flocks  climb  faster  as  they  feed, 
Scenting  the  upper  cisterns.    Downward  again 
Toward  folding  time. 

EVE. 

Gazing  at  the  sky. 

I  think  the  sun  at  home 


398  THE   DEATH   OF   EVE         [ACT  I 

Sits  not  in  such  a  shoulder  of  the  heavens. 
We  fetch  him  all  about  and  overtake  him. 

JUBAL. 
So  do  we. 
Pause. 

Is  it  well  that  we  do  so? 

EVE. 

We  make  our  journey;  if  the  lights  of  Heaven 
Move  from  their  ancient  places  as  we  move, 
Let  the  Heavens  look  to  it;  it  is  none  of  ours! 

JUBAL. 

Thou  sayest;  and  Jubal  rises  to  thy  words. — 
At  home  Eve  never  spake  so. 

EVE. 

'  Jubal,  Jubal, 

I  know  not  what  is  in  me !   I  am  changed 
From  all  I  was.    Or  am  I  back- re  turned 
Through  life's  deep  changes  to  my  changeless  self? 
Look  in  my  face,  and  say. 

JUBAL. 

Thy  face  is  changed ;  — 

And  that  behind  the  face,  which  looketh  through, 
Peers  like  a  stranger. 


ACT  i]         THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  399 

EVE. 

Since  our  latest  guide, 
Standing  upon  the  red  cliffs  yester  dawn, 
Pointed  and  said,  "Cain's  City!"  - 

JUBAL. 

Longer  ago 
The  change  came. 

EVE. 

Murmurs. 

Know'st  me. 

JUBAL. 

O  mother,  since  the  night 
When  thy  loud  whisper  startled  me  awake, 
And  following  thee  in  wonder  from  the  tents 
I  found  our  camels  houseled  for  the  start, 
And  the  wide  moonlit  stretches  calling  us,  — 
Since  then,  through  desert  perils,  famine,  beasts, 
More  ravenous  men,  and  thirst  the  crown  of  ter 
rors, 

Thou  art  Eve,  not  that  bowed  soul  we  knew, 
Not  that  great  worn  and  patient  majesty; 
But  like  an  angel  going  on  an  errand 
Not  for  his  lord  but  for  his  longing  self, 
Who  burns  from  morn  to  morn  and  deep  to  deep 


400  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE         [ACT  i 

Toward  his  place,  so  Eve  is,  since  the  time 
She  fled,  by  night  and  stealth,  from  Adam's  tent, 
And  took  the  wilderness. — To  what  purpose  took, 
She  keeps  from  me  too  long! 

EVE. 

Have  I  not  said? 

To  look  upon  my  first-born's  face  again, 
And  know  him  what  he  grows  to. 

JUBAL. 

I  am  content. 

EVE. 
Jubal  believes  I  scant  him? 

JUBAL. 

I  am  content! 

There  is  no  scanting  in  thee.   Silence,  speech, 
Giving,  withholding,  doing,  and  letting  be, 
Sit  on  thee  lovely  as  a  change  of  jewels 
And  bounteous  as  the  River  of  the  South : 
Forget  my  lips  that  they  were  troublesome. 

EVE. 
Why  do  you  hold  my  words  for  less  than  truth? 

JUBAL. 

Nay. 


ACT  I]         THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  401 

EVE. 
Say  on. 

JUBAL. 
Freely? 

EVE. 

Say  right  freely  on. 

JUBAL. 

Eve  knows  ere  Jubal  speaks,  yet  he  will  speak. 
At  home  lies  bed-rid  Adam  in  the  tent, 
With  wasted  hands  and  slow  blank  eyes  agrope 
To  find  the  sole  things  they  remember  plain, 
The  hands  and  eyes  of  Eve,  who  never  failed 
To  meet  that  need  till  now.   And  Eve  sits  here, 
Within  her  eyes  a  high  and  thirsty  light, 
Brighter  than  burning  Adam  ever  stilled 
In  that  far  storied  morning  of  their  loves ; 
Within  her  hands  —  Alas,  I  speak  too  near! 

EVE. 
Speak  on. 

JUBAL. 

And  in  her  hands  —  I  know  not  how 
To  say  my  meaning. 

EVE. 

Say,  though. 


402  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE         [ACT  I 

JUBAL. 

On  her  hands, 

That  lie  so  quiet  and  so  empty  here, 
A  look  as  if  they  seized  the  hands  of  God, 
And  dragged  Him  with   her   through   his   holy 

mountain 
Unwillingly  to  do  her  glorious  will. 

EVE. 

Draws  him  to  her. 

Nearer.  Bend  back.  Now  by  sweet  Adah's  pangs, 
It  is  a  goodly  boy's  face.    Is  it  strong 
As  it  is  fresh  and  goodly? 

JUBAL. 

It  is  his 

Whom  Eve  chose  out,  a  boy,  and  left  unchosen 
Others,  firm  men. 

EVE. 

What  if  she  tried  them  first, 
The  others,  the  firm  men?   Seth,  Enoch,  all? 
Thy  father  Lamech,  too,  and  Irad,  too? 
Firm  men,  firm  men!    I  shook  them  from  their 

firmness ! 
Sinews  and  blood  and  heart-strings,  at  a  word 


ACT  i]         THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  403 

Melted  to  water!  At  a  woman's  word, 

Touching  far  off  her  cloudy  enterprise! 

Pause. 

One  more  is  left  to  try! 

Long  pause. 

JUBAL. 

Mother,  I  saw 
When  thou  did'st  speak  with  Seth. 

EVE. 

Startled. 

Saw'st?  Thou  saw'st? 

JUBAL. 

I  saw  but  heard  not.   Am  no  eaves-dropper, 
No  peep-thief  neither,  but  mine  eyes  had  looked 
Before  I  knew  't  was  secret. 

EVE. 
Low. 

When  was  this? 
JUBAL. 

Early  the  third  night  ere  we  fled  away 

From  Adam's  tent-place.    In  the  camel-close 

I  sat  among  the  beasts,  for  one  was  big 

And  near  her  time.    'T  was  star-dusk,  very  still ; 

Only  the  beast  groan'd  low  and  human-like, 

Or  nosed  my  stroking  hand  and  held  her  peace. 


404  THE   DEATH   OF   EVE         [ACT  I 

Thereby,  over  against,  a  voice,  thy  voice, 
Never  the  words,  only  the  naked  voice, 
Heavy  and  scant,  as  if  a  half-dead  tongue 
Fashioned  its  meaning  stiffly.   Then  the  moon 
Stood  all  at  once  her  height  upon  the  hill 
And  showed  thy  form  and  Seth's  within  the  gate. 
Thy  face  I  could  not  see,  but  saw  thy  hands 
Raised  unto  Seth,  pleading  or  threatening, 
And  saw  the  face  of  Seth,  with  mortal  fear 
Disfeatured,  —  updrawn  forehead,  loosened  jaw, 
And  staring  eyes  gone  empty.  —  Then,  as  one 
Who  shakes  the  night- witch  Lilith  from  his  breast, 
He  came  into  his  manhood,  took  thy  hands 
And  drew  them  down,  kissed  thee,  and  spoke  thee 

small 

As  one  bespeaks  a  trance- awakened  child, 
Softly  and  small,  until  it  knows  itself 
And  its  familiar  things.   So  went  ye  hence. 
And  next  day  and  the  next  Seth's  eyes  were  on 

thee, 
Frightened  and  vague;  but  Eve  walked  straight 

her  ways 
Not  heeding  him. 

EVE. 
Who  heeds  a  broken  staff? 


ACT  i]         THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  405 

—  Nay,  nay,  that  wrongs  him !   Broken  not,  but 

bent, 

No  more  but  bent  a  little.  —  A  good  son, 
Tender  and  meek  and  patient  with  all  men, 
And  most  with  me,  child,  most  of  all  with  me! 
I  blame  not  Seth.   Let  him  look  to  it,  then, 
He  blame  me  not.  O  would  't  were  by  with  blame ! 
When  has  the  oak  been  proud  against  the  willow? 
Or  the  light  aspen  shook  her  jeweled  hands 
In  scorn  of  the  removeless  mountain  pine? 
To  every  soul  his  stature,  girth,  and  grain, 
Each  sovereign  to  its  end :  the  use  is  all.  — 
And  yet,  and  yet  —  Look  you,  he  thought  me 

crazed ! 

So  did  the  others,  or  were  ripe  to  think. 
Some  day  they  would  have  risen  and  stoned  me 

forth, 

To  be  like  those  banned  women  of  the  rocks, 
Who  haunt  the  savage  summits  of  our  land, 
Aye,  you  have  seen  them!    They  were  human 

once, 

Daughters  and  sisters,  mothers  and  right  wives ; 
And  now  they  sit  there,  high  up  in  the  sun 
On  noon-steeped  crags,  naked  but  for  their  hair, — 
She-satyrs  laughing  with  their  satyr  mates : 


406  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE        [ACT  i 

I  might  have  sat  aloft  with  them  by  now, 
And  thought  not  strange  to  be  there. 
Pause. 

JUBAL. 

Eve  must  know 
Another  thing,  ere  I  have  cleared  my  life. 

EVE. 
Clear  thee! 

JUBAL. 
I  saw  her  speak  with  Abel  too. 

EVE. 

Looking  fearfully  about. 

Thou  sunlight  shelter  us!  Abel? 

JUBAL. 

His  ghost. 

EVE. 
The  night  we  fled  away? 

JUBAL. 

Thou  know'st  't  is  so. 

EVE. 

How  know?  Albeit  I  blench  to  hear  it  said, 
Yet  I  do  talk  with  Abel,  my  lost  son, 
By  night  and  day,  forever! 


ACT  I]         THE   DEATH  OF  EVE  407 

JUBAL. 

Day  and  night, 

Life,  death,  the  hid,  the  shown,  are  in  thy  know 
ledge. 

In  his  simplicity  hath  Jubal  spoke, 
And  now  his  heart  is  free. 

EVE. 

Not  yet!  Not  yet! 
Abel?   Thine  eyes  saw  Abel?    His  risen  ghost? 

JUBAL. 

The  thousand  eyeballs  of  this  flesh,  they  saw, 
What  time  my  crowding  spirits,  wild  and  pale, 
Made  all  my  curdled  blood  from  head  to  heel 
Their  tower  of  outlook. 

EVE. 
By  the  altar?  Was  it? 

JUBAL. 
Yea,  yea. 

EVE. 

Cain's  altar? 

JUBAL. 

Abel's  altar  mound ; 
Though  both  be  eat  to  nothing  with  the  years. 


4o8  THE  DEATH   OF  EVE         [ACT  i 

EVE. 

Aye,  aye,  the  eating  years!   At  first  I  thought 
I  was  mistook;  't  would  be  the  farther  mound. 
After  these  years  they  should  let  something  grow 
there. 

JUBAL. 

Though  salt  were  sown  not,  nor  the  stones  not 

flung, 

No  plant  would  spring  within  the  awful  vale 
Where  murder  first  was  born.  --  I  followed  thee 
Scarce  hoping  to  come  thence  again  alive, 
And  crouched  apart  while  Eve  did  call  on  Abel; 
Thrice  did  she  cry  on  him. 

EVE. 

Ere  I  cried  once 

I  knew  't  was  vain.    He  would  not  let  me  go. 
Living  and  dead  they  failed  me ! 
Pause. 

JUBAL. 

Lamech  too! 

EVE. 

Ah,  for  thy  father  Lamech,  honor  him! 
Good  father,  and  good  husband  to  his  wives ! 
They  point  him  and  he  goes,  what  man  would  not? 
Both  fair,  and  one  right  good;  Adah  is  good. 


ACT  I]         THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  409 

Loves  not  much  farther  outward  than  her  door, 
But  that  is  well  for  women,  —  narrow  love, 

Narrow  and  deep. 

JUBAL. 

Then  't  is  not  well  with  Eve, 
Who  loves  as  wide  as  life,  though  deep  as  death. 

EVE. 

Once,  once !   No  longer  now,  these  years  of  years ! 
They  would  not  have  me  so.  —  Great  years  of 

years 

Since  Eve  in  anguish  called  her  wild  heart  in 
And  taught  it  what  to  do.  —  Yet,  yet,  thou  say- 

est  — 
What  said'st  thou  of  me? 

JUBAL. 

What  thyself  said  first, 
O  mighty  Eve!   Thy  soul  is  back  returned 
Through  life's  sad  changes  to  that  joy  it  was 
When  first  it  soared  into  the  new-made  light. 

EVE. 
Seemeth  almost  it  is  so.  —  Years  of  years ! 

Pause. 

JUBAL. 

Hark!  Heard'st  thou? 


4io  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE         [ACT  I 

EVE. 

Women  coming  to  the  well. 

JUBAL. 

As  the  voices  approach. 

Mother,  beseech  ye,  be  as  if  we  slept ! 

For  they  will  mock  thee  as  before  they  did. 

EVE. 
I  care  not  for  their  mocking. 

JUBAL. 

Be  besought! 

CHORUS  OF  WATER-BEARERS. 

Two  groups,  one  of  young,  the  other  of  old  women,  sing 
in  alternation. 

Old  Women. 

Like  a  hunter  in  his  mountain  walks  the  purpose  of 
the  Lord! 

Young  Women. 
0,  the  prey  alert  and  little,  be  its  littleness  its  ward! 

Old  Women. 

Like  a  linnet  on  the  lime-twig  sings  the  bow-string 
on  the  bow. 


ACT  I]         THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  411 

Young  Women. 
0,  the  serpent  'when  he  sitteth  on  his  coils  singeth  so! 

Chorus  (in  unison). 
Even  though,  even  though! 

Be  it  ours  to  flee  and  double,  be  it  His  to  bring  us  low. 
Blessed  she  who  tastes  his  arrow  and  lies  broken  in 

the  wood. 

She  has  fled,  she  has  fallen  :  it  is  good. 
They  fill  their  jars  at  the  well. 

FIRST  WOMAN. 

What  makes  the  witch- wife  hither?    Have  ye 
heard? 

SECOND  WOMAN. 

What  make  they  all,  who  sit  on  yonder  stone 
To  wait  Cain's  coming? 

THIRD  WOMAN. 

The  old  tale. 

Some  sons  of  jackals,  loping  sharp-set  by, 
Have  sniffed  her  hut,  and  stopped  unhid  to  meat; 
Some  neighbor  hath  put  sheep's-bane  in  her  well; 
An  idle  whirlwind,  rising  up  to  play, 
Has  wantoned  with  her  little  patch  of  dates, 
And  left  it  bleeding. 


4i2  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE         [ACT  i 

SECOND  WOMAN. 

-Has  none  spoke  with  her? 

FOURTH  WOMAN. 

Aye,  to  much  purpose!  She  is  sullen  dumb, 
Sun-crazed,  or  hath  a  spirit.   'T  was  my  son 
Who  found  her  in  the  gates.   "Cain!"  would  she 

cry, 

And  "  Cain! "  again.   By  what  she  mumbled  else 
She  will  be  outlandish. 

FIFTH  WOMAN. 

By  raiment  too. 

And  then  the  starveling  camel,  did  you  mark? 
Longer  in  limb  and  muzzle  than  our  breed, 
The  pelt  more  reddish. 

FOURTH  WOMAN. 

Let  us  stir  her  up ! 

Some  go  toward  Eve  andjubal.  Abdera,  a  young  girl, 
puts  herself  in  their  path. 

ABDERA. 

Ye  shall  not  mock  them! 
t 

FOURTH  WOMAN. 

What!  Weaned  since,  swaddling-clout? 


ACT  I]         THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  413 

SECOND  WOMAN. 

The  maid  says  well.  They  are  all  travel-spent. 
They  sit  like  souls  foredone  for  weariness. 

FOURTH  WOMAN. 
They  feign!   They  feign!  Saw  ye?   The  stripling 

peeps 
And  lowers  beneath  his  arm! 

SECOND  WOMAN. 

And  let  them  feign. 

Take  up  your  jars,  and  take  your  singing  up. 
All  except  Abdera  mount  the  path  behind. 

FOURTH  WOMAN. 

Looking  back. 

Look  yon !  Look  yon !  The  little  harlotry 
Stops  for  her  hire. 

THIRD  WOMAN. 

'T  will  be  the  lad  that  pays! 

CHORUS  OF  WATER-BEARERS. 

As  they  ascend  the  slope  behind,  and  pass  through  the 
gate. 

Till  the  coming  up  of  day, 

Till  the  cool  night  flee  away, 

Till  the  Hunter  rises  up  to  pursue, 


414  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE         [ACT  I 

0  my  sisters,  we  will  laugh,  we  will  play! 

Though  He  wake  and  walk  anear  us, 

He  is  mused,  He  will  not  hear  us; 

Though  He  wanders  lone  and  late, 

He  will  never  hear  how  mate  whispereth  to  darkling 

mate. 

Yea,  and  though  He  hear,  and  though! 
Will  He  judge  us,  even  so? 
He  is  mused,  He  walketh  harmless.  In  the  shadowy 

mountain  hid 

We  will  lure  our  lovers  to  us,  even  as  our  mothers  did! 
When  He  cometh  forth  at  dawn,  and  His  anger  burns 

anew, 

As  our  hunted  mothers  did,  even  so  we  will  do: 
Flee  and  crouch  and  feint  and  double,  leap  the  snare 

or  gnaw  it  through  ! 

EVE. 
Who  art  thou?  Tell  us. 

ABDERA. 

Abdera. 

EVE. 

Whose  daughter? 

ABDERA. 
Till  now  the  daughter  of  captivity, 


ACT  I]         THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  415 

A  leaf  blown  in  by  tempest  of  those  wars 
Which  crushed  the  stem  I  grew  to. 

EVE. 

And  from  now? 
ABDERA. 

Kneeling. 

If  thou  art  earthly  and  hast  need  of  love, 
Thy  servant  and  thy  daughter.  —  O  receive  me! 
Pause. 

JUBAL. 

Mother,  she  waits.  Wilt  thou  not  speak  to  her? 
Her  countenance,  that  was  so  bright,  is  fallen. 
Eve  draws  Abdera  near  and  bends  over  her. 

ABDERA. 

To  Eve. 

Why  weep'st  thou? 
Pause.   To  Jubal. 

O  why  weeps  she?  At  my  words 
She  looked  beyond,  with  thinking,  sightless  eyes, 
As  I  have  seen  my  father's  gods  to  look 
Out  of  the  dreaming  stone ;  and  then  —  alas, 
Tell  me  what  't  is  you  weep  for! 

EVE. 

Lifting  her  head. 

Sweet  my  child, 
My  fair  new  daughter,  't  is  for  thee  I  weep. 


4i6  THE   DEATH   OF  EVE         [ACT  I 

ABDERA. 
No  cause.  See,  I  am  glad  now;  all  is  well. 

EVE. 

Therefore  I  weep,  that  we  all  three  are  glad, 
And  all  is  well,  thrice  well. 
She  draws  Jubal  to  her,  also.   To  Jubal. 

What  say  you,  boy? 
Hearts  change !   Here  is  a  stranger  in  thy  place. 

-  There  is  a  wondrous  vine  called  Jealousy ; 
It  springs  between  this  pulse-beat  and  the  next, 
And  hangs  the  roofs  of  heaven  with  bitterness. 
Does  Jubal  feel  it  growing? 

JUBAL. 

Nay,  —  I  know  not. 
EVE. 
To  Abdera. 

He  knows  not.  Then,  alas,  we  know  too  well ! 

JUBAL. 

Touching  his  heart. 

Mother,  the  Vine!  I  felt  it  springing  here 
Even  as  thou  spakest,  and  hanging  as  it  were 
The  roofs  of  Heaven,  but  not  with  bitterness. 

EVE. 
There  may  be  other  seeds  I  know  not  of, 


ACT  I]         THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  417 

That  spring  as  fast,  and  load  their  trellises 
With  leaves  of  light  and  lovely  fruits  between. 

ABDERA. 

Some  I  have  seen  with  fairy  vans  outspread 
Sail  high,  and  yet  no  wind,  or  good  as  none. 
And  some  have  hands  and  fingers :  they  will  cling 
To  sheep  or  goat  or  ass,  all  one  to  them 
So  they  be  carried  where  they  long  to  be. 

EVE. 

Aye,  where  they  long  to  be!  Winds  of  the  world, 
Blow  as  ye  will  and  blow  what  seeds  ye  will 
If  this  kind  mingle  in. 

JUBAL. 

She  wonders  at  us. 
Speak  to  her. 

EVE. 
Wonder'st  thou?  Are  we  so  strange? 

ABDERA. 

I  was  brought  young  to  Cain's  fierce  citadel. 
And  since,  day  after  day,  season  by  season, 
Now  stark  alone  and  now  in  bands  of  trouble, 
The  hurt  and  hungry  people  gather  in, 
To  crouch  upon  this  stone.   Some  I  have  feared, 


4i  8  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE        [ACT  I 

Yea,  hated  for  the  wickedness  in  them, 
Being  myself  made  wicked  by  that  hate; 
Some  seemed  to  fade  to  nothing  where  they  sat, 
Scarce  there  at  all,  and  hardly  gone,  forgotten; 
Of  some  I  asked  in  wonder,  "Who  are  ye? 
What    countrymen,    what    errand,    and    what 

cheer?" 

My  heart  not  beating  till  the  answer  fell, 
And  long,  long  wildly  beating  to  remember.  — 
To-day  I  came,  and  lo,  nothing  to  wonder, 
Nothing  to  question  of!  Two  trees  of  life 
Planted  from  always  unto  everlasting 
By  the  still  waters;  and  my  quiet  soul, 
With  outspread  hands  and  upturned  countenance 
In  the  bright  shadow,  saying,  "Glory,  glory!" 

JUBAL. 

Low. 

One  tree. 

ABDERA. 

Low  to  Jubal. 

Thy  parable? 

JUBAL. 
Indicating  Eve,  who  sits  in  reverie. 

She  is  the  tree; 
And  I  with  thee  stand  singing  in  her  shadow. 


ACT  I]         THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  419 

EVE. 

Rousing. 

What  think  the  people  of  their  master  Cain? 

ABDERA. 
That  he  is  master;  that  he  is  lord  and  king. 

EVE. 
No  more? 

ABDERA. 
Some  mutter  darkly  and  apart. 

EVE. 
What  should  they  mutter  of? 

ABDERA. 
Looking  about  as  in  fear. 

That  Cain  is  old ; 
That  as  he  grows  more  weak  he  grows  more  cruel. 

JUBAL. 
Cruel?  To  thee? 

ABDERA. 

The  storm  that  breaks  the  tower 
Roots  not  the  little  hyssop  from  the  chink. 
Nor  do  I  hold  him  cruel  of  his  will, 
But  in  his  withered  blood  a  poison  works, 
Distilling  wrath  and  panic.  —  Long  ago, 


420  THE   DEATH   OF  EVE         [ACT  I 

In  his  hot  youth,  upon  some  jealousy 
He  slew  his  brother.   Then  the  angry  gods 
Set  on  his  brow  a  sign  to  know  him  by; 
And  since,  in  hopeless  visions  of  his  bed, 
Or  when  the  priestesses  rave  round  his  car, 
Gashing  themselves,  and  to  their  frothed  mouths 
Setting  the  adder's  mouth,  or  when  he  lairs, 
His  madness  on,  with  demons  of  the  waste  — 
The  patient  gods,  the  unwithdrawing  gods, 
Dropwise  and  piecemeal  wean  his  soul  from  him. 

EVE. 
Old?  Madness?  Withered?  Girl,  can'st  thou  not 

speak  plain? 

Mutter  not  thou,  whate'er  yon  rebels  do! 
Tojubal. 
Did  she  say  "old"? 

JUBAL. 

What  has  she  said  amiss? 
—  She  shrinks  with  fear. 

EVE. 

Old! 

JUBAL. 

Seth,  though  the  later  born, 
Thou  knowest,  Seth  too  — 


ACT  I]         THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  421 

EVE. 

Seth  too?  And  what  of  him? 
Yes,  yes,  all's  clear.  Seth  truly!  That  is  well. 
Children  as  ye  two  be !  To  the  dropped  lamb 
The  yearling  from  the  father  of  the  flock 
Stands  not  a  hair  apart  in  reverend  time.  — 
And  cruel,  say  they?  He  was  never  so! 
Hasty  and  hot,  a  blood  where  rage  would  run 
As  swift  as  sun-fire  through  dry  prairie  grass, 
But  cruel  —  never  that.  —  Thy  shoulder,  Jubal. 
A  faintness  is  come  on  me.    'T  will  pass,   't  is 

passing. 

Old  —  old  and  cruel. 
She  rouses  again. 

Girl,  girl!  What  else  was't,  then? 
Weak?    As  he  grows  more  weak?    Why  I  have 

seen 

The  young  oak  shudder  in  his  wrestling  arms, 
And  its  torn  roots  come  groaning  from  the  hill, 
When  for  a  sport  he  did  but  breathe  himself. 
—  Ages  of  years ! — Thrust  from  his  gate  like  dogs ! 
Weak,  weak,  indeed,  to  be  afeard  of  us. 
Her  head  sinks  on  JubaVs   shoulder;  her  eyes  close. 

Abdera  kisses  the  hem  of  Eve  s  garment,  rises,  and 

takes  up  her  jar. 


422  THE   DEATH   OF  EVE         [ACT  i 

ABDERA. 

She  set  me  in  the  garden  of  her  love ; 
At  first  I  grew,  as  ne'er  by  so  sweet  clime 
A  tree  was  told  to  prosper  and  put  forth ; 
But  at  the  last  not  so.  —  Sour  were  my  fruits, 
Apples  of  ignorance. 
SJie  turns  to  go. 

JUBAL. 

Where  wilt  thou  go? 
Stay  yet !    I   thought  —  O  ye  two  spake  such 

things ! 
I  thought  —  and  thou  wilt  leave  us  now  again? 

ABDERA. 

Let  me  not  leave  you!  Whither  should  I  go? 
I  know  naught  else.  —  I  have  been  always  here. 

JUBAL. 

He  draws  Abdera  to  him. 
O  never  leave  us  more! 

ABDERA. 

Yielding  to  his  embrace. 

Fair,  fair  my  brother. 

JUBAL. 
—  Know'st  thou  nor  guessest  nothing  who  she  is? 


ACT  I]         THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  423 

ABDERA. 

She  is  the  tree  'neath  which  we  sing  together, 
Herself  in  all  her  boughs  to  Heaven  singing. 

JUBAL. 

She  sings  not  to  the  Heavens,  but  to  the  earth ; 
Once  hoarsely,  like  a  look-out  overwatched, 
Now  in  a  new  voice,  battle-songs  and  birth-songs. 

ABDERA. 

When  first  I  looked  on  her  I  seemed  to  sit 
A  child  and  sleepy  in  my  father's  tent; 
The  wandering  prophet  sang,  and  'neath  my  lids 
I  saw  great  shapes  rise  out  of  elder  time; 
Beginning  earth,  with  other  beasts  and  birds; 
Ionian  forests  where  winged  serpents  flew; 
Seasons  not  ours,  and  long  since  fallen  gods,  \ 

JUBAL. 

She  saw  creation's  morning;  she  will  stay 
To  watch  the  everlasting  twilight  fall.  — 

ABDERA. 
Hush!- 

JUBAL. 

Looking  about. 

None  to  hear. 


424  THE   DEATH   OF  EVE        [ACT  I 

ABDERA. 
Pointing  in  fear. 

Look  where  above  the  sand 

The  hot  light  dances.  Should  it  dance  for  naught? 

JUBAL. 

Know  ye  more  gods  but  One? 
i 

ABDERA. 

My  fathers  knew; 

And   sometimes   I  -      Hush !    Bow   thee !    They 
walk,  they  hear! 

JUBAL. 

Looking  upward,  toward  the  citadel. 
Not  gods,  but  men,  come  from  the  eyrie  town, 
Slow  down  the  mountain  stair !  One  walks  between, 
And  two  that  stead  him  upon  either  hand; 
And  some  before  with  singing,  and  yet  some 
Behind,  with  spears  and  banners. 

ABDERA. 

Whispers  to  Eve. 

Cain,  he  comes! 

All  three  rise  and  gaze  upward.  The  procession  de 
scends.  Cain,  aged  and  broken,  seats  himself  in  the 
throne-seat  surrounded  by  his  armed  men,  while  Eve, 
veiled  but  for  the  eyes,  stands  supported  by  Jubal  and 


ACT  I]         THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  425 

Abdera.    The  chief  officer  at  Cains  side  lifts  his 

hand. 

CHIEF  OFFICER. 

The  king  is  come  into  his  judgment  seat  — 
If  any  in  this  presence  have  a  cause, 
The  time  is  gracious,  and  the  king  gives  ear. 

EVE. 

Gazing  from  Cain  to  one  and  another  of  his  men. 
Seek  not  to  try  me,  who  am  over  tried ! 
Is  this  the  king,  or  sits  one  in  his  room? 

CAIN. 
What  says  the  woman? 

OFFICER. 

If  thou  be  the  king. 

CAIN. 
What  should  be  answered? 

OFFICER. 

Mock  not  thy  servant,  lord, 
Nor  thy  great  self. 

CAIN. 

Mutters. 

Still  king,  or  not  yet  wakened 

From  dreaming  such  a  matter. 


426  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE        [ACT  i 

To  Eve. 

Unveil  thy  face. 
Uncover  thee  and  speak. 

Eve  drops  her  veil.    Cain  stares  with  slow  gathering 
terror,  then  rises. 

Thou  hag  of  hell, 

Glare  not  upon  me  with  those  caverned  eyes ! 
To  his  officers. 

Whoever  has  done  this,  his  life  shall  pay. 
Do  ye  spread  out  your  nets  among  the  dead, 
And  toll  them  here  out  of  the  earth  and  air 
To  daunt  me,  and  to  shake  me  from  myself? 
To  the  priests  who  advance. 
Try  her  if  she  be  human !   Speak  the  word ! 
Make  the  dread  sign! 

EVE. 

Make  not  your  sign  on  me! 
For  on  your  bloods  and  bodies  ere  the  birth 
Myself  have  made  on  you  a  mightier  sign. 
-  Cain,  Cain,  dost  thou  not  know  me?     Look 

again ! 

Cain,  gazing-  at  her  stupefied,  makes  a  sign  to  his  men 
to  leave  him. 

CAIN. 
As  they  linger. 

Back  to  the  city!  Away!   Go,  every  one! 


ACT  I]         THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  427 

They  mount  the  steps,  with  backward  looks.  An  aged 
warrior  lingers.  Jubal  and  Abdera,  clinging  together 
in  awe  and  fear,  slip  away  down  the  desert  path  be 
hind. 

WARRIOR. 

By  one  who  in  suspicion  has  grown  grey, 

And  all  to  shield  and  warn  thee,  lord,  be  warned. 

Many  and  subtle  are  thine  enemies. 

In  many  shapes  they  hunt  thee  for  thy  soul. 

CAIN. 
Leave  us  alone!  Go,  go!  Alone,  alone. 

The  old  man  mounts  the  steps.  Cain,  with  averted  head, 

mutters  to  Eve. 
God  knows  I  know  thee  not. 

EVE. 

Approaching  nearer. 

Cain,  Cain,  look  up! 

Grieve  no  more;  pity  my  grief.    Eve  knows  thou 

knowest. 

He  draws  her  to  him,  and  sinks  on  the  bench,  —  she  at 
his  feet,  her  head  buried  in  his  knees.  Song  above, 
distant. 

CAIN. 

As  the  singing  ceases. 
The  first  that  I  remember  of  my  life 


428  THE   DEATH   OF  EVE         [ACT  i 

Was  such  a  place,  such  a  still  afternoon, 
I  sitting  thus,  thy  bright  head  in  my  knees, 
And  such  a  bird  above  us  as  him  yonder 
Who  dips  and  hushes,  lifts  and  takes  his  note. 
I  know  not  what  child's  trespass  I  had  done, 
Nor  why  it  drove  the  girl  out  of  thy  face, 
Clutched  at  thy  heart  with  panic,  and  in  thine 

eyes 
Set  shuddering  love. 

EVE. 

O  my  first-born,  my  child ! 

0  herald  star  in  the  wilderness  appearing, 
After  the  nine-fold  moon  of  dubious  speech, 
Proclaiming  silence  soon  to  fall  in  Heaven  - 
The  everlasting  silence  that  soon  did  fall, 
When  by  me  lay  thy  little  frame  of  breathing, 
And  blind  and  weak  thou  foundest  out  the  breast ! 

CAIN. 

There  was  a  day  when  winter  held  the  hills 
And  all  the  lower  places  looking  sunward 
Knew  that  the  spring  was  near.    Until  that  day 

1  had  but  walked  in  a  boy's  dream  and  dazzle, 
And  in  soft  darkness  folded  on  herself 

My  soul  had  spun  her  blind  and  silken  house. 


ACT  I]        THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  429 

It  was  my  birthday,  for  at  earliest  dawn 

You  had  crept  to  me  in  the  outer  tent, 

Kissed  me  with  tears  and  laughter,  whispering 

low 

That  I  was  born,  and  that  the  world  was  there, 
A  gift  you  had  imagined  and  made  for  me. 
Now,  as  I  climbed  the  morning  hills,  behold, 
Those  words  were  true :  the  world  at  last  was  there ; 
At  last  't  was  mine,  and  I  was  born  at  last. 
I  walked,  and  on  my  shoulders  and  my  reins 
Strength  rang  like  armor;  I  sat,  and  in  my  belly 
Strength  gnawed  like  a  new  vinegar;  I  ran 
And  strength  was  on  me  like  superfluous  wings, 
Even  the  six  wings  of  the  cherubim, 
Twice  twain  to  cover  me  and  twain  to  fly. 

EVE. 

0  green  tree !   O  the  young  man  in  the  house ! 
A  gold  frontlet  of  pride,  and  a  green  cedar! 
Pause, 

CAIN. 

His  voice  changes. 

1  knew  that  you  would  come. 

EVE. 

Lo,   I  am  here. 


430  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE        [ACT  i 

CAIN. 

And  knew  't  would  be  too  late. 

EVE. 

In  full  good  time. 

CAIN. 

Look  on  me;  look  once.  Is  this  crazed  frame 
The  thing  Eve  bare  in  joy?   Let  us  climb  down 
Unto  the  sheep-pools;  I  will  sit  apart, 
And  do  thou  lean  thee  out  over  the  pool 
And  look  and  tell  me  if  that  face  be  hers 
Who  waited  while  yon  silence  fell  in  Heaven 
And  Cain  came  forth  the  doors.  —  Too  late,  too 
late! 

EVE. 

Late,  late,  —  but  in  fair  time !    Never  too  late. 
Silence. 

CAIN. 
They  told  me  Eve  was  dead. 

EVE. 

Startled. 

They  told  —  alas, 
Who  told? 

CAIN. 
Chance-comers,  wanderers  from  the  waste. 


ACT  I]         THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  431 

EVE. 

And  do  chance- wandering  tongues  still  sound  this 
name? 

CAIN. 

Here  one  and  there  one,  never  aught  aright, 
But  every  man  his  tale,  after  his  heart. 

EVE. 

Even  in  the  tent  my  people  do  me  this. 
Even  in  my  face,  almost!  Yea,  I  have  lain, 
Bowed  on  thy  father's  breast,  and  heard  them  do 

it. 
I  feigned  to  sleep;  I  heard  them.    And  look  you, 

son, 

Here  is  the  worst.  Their  glozing  tales  once  heard, 
Qflce  pored  on  through  long  watches  of  the  night, 
They  rise  before  my  soul  like  very  truth, 
As  bright,  as  fair,  as  strange,  —  almost,  almost ! 

CAIN. 

Darkly. 

On  Adam's  breast?   How  long  since? 

EVE. 

The  road  is  far, 
And  hard  to  find.   Also,  the  second  moon, 


432  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE        [ACT  i 

One  camel  sickened,  and  his  pining  mate 
Went  laggard.  —  Son,  what  ails  thee? 

CAIN. 

He  lives? 

EVE. 

Who  lives? 

-Aye,  aye,  he  lives.    Hast  heard  aught,  child? 

He  lives, 
Surely  thy  father  lives. 

CAIN. 

And  thou  art  here? 

EVE. 
But  most  for  his  sake.  —  Listen  while  I  tell ! 

-  Why  do  you  harshly  thrust  my  hands  away,^ 
And  lift  your  clenched  hands  trembling  to  the  sky 
With  wild  and  smothered  words? 

CAIN. 

Pushing  her  front  him. 

I  know  you  not, 

Unclasp  my  knees.  —  I  thought  you  were  yourself. 
Yours,  therefore  mine  at  last.    It  is  not  so. 
His,  his,  the  same  as  when  he  cursed  me  forth 
And  Eve  stood  stockish,  never  one  plea  made, 


ACT  I]         THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  433 

One  wail  set  up,  one  gesture  of  farewell, 
No  more  than  from  a  stone! 

EVE. 

She  was  a  stone; 

As  afterwards,  long  years,  a  frozen  stone. 
No  seasons  and  no  weather  on  the  earth ; 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars  dead  in  a  field  of  death; 
And  in  her  dead  heart,  nothing,  nothing,  nothing! 
After  long  years,  she  wakened,  knew  herself, 
Rose  up  to  wring  some  profit  from  her  days, 
Conceived  again,  and  once  again  brought  forth; 
Yea,  saw  the  teeming  race  in  circles  kindle 
Roaring  to  God,  a  flame  of  generation. 
From  out  the  tossing  battle  of  that  fire 
Flashed  seldom  and  again  wild  news  of  thee, 
And  one  red  instant,  ere  night  drove  between, 
Thy  form  would  stand  gigantic  in  the  glare, 
Islanded  huge  among  thine  enemies,  — 
As  when  the  ice-bear  rears  upon  the  floe 
And  swings  her  flailing  paws  against  the  pack, 
Or  when  the  sea- volcano  from  his  loins 
Shakes  climbing  cities. 

CAIN. 

Better,  better  far 


434  THE   DEATH  OF  EVE         [ACT  i 

That  Eve  had  never  sought,  nor  Cain  been  found, 
Than  thus,  being  together,  to  be  sundered 
More  than  by  ice-fields  or  the  raving  sea. 

EVE. 

0  Cain,  how  sundered?  —  Look  on  me!  Kiss  my 

lips, 
And  feel  it  is  not  so. 

CAIN. 

Repulsing  her. 

'T  is  not  so  then. 

There  is  no  gateway  shut  between  our  souls, 
No  watchers  stationed,  and  no  lifted  sword 
Flaming  forever! 

EVE. 
Ere  I  fled  to  thee 

1  knelt  in  fear  by  Abel's  altar-mound 

And  begged  his  leave  to  go.    His  spirit  rose, 
Or  seemed  to  rise,  and  seemed  to  threaten  me. 
The  same  night  on  thy  father's  breast  I  bowed, 
And  spoke  of  this  my  journey.    In  his  eyes, 
If  still  they  seemed  to  know  me  who  I  was, 
Kindled  none  other  knowledge.  —  Albeit  I  rose, 
And  fled  away,  and  suffered  much,  and  came, 
Thy  name  among  the  nations  my  sole  guide, 
Desire  of  thee  my  strength  and  company. 


ACT  I]         THE   DEATH   OF   EVE  435 

-  Be  glad  of  me !  O  lovingly  entreat  me ! 
Make  all  my  meanings  good,  till  such  a  time 

As  these  our  wounds  are  healed.    Then  if,  per 
chance, 

Our  hearts  at  ease,  I  something  should  unveil 
My  stranger  will,  my  cloudier  purposes  - 

CAIN. 

Yea,  yea,  I  wondered  what  would  lurk  behind ! 

-  Not  for  my  sake,  that  were  too  mere  a  mother. 

—  Wills,  purposes !  Lo,  am  I  taken  in 
Because  your  tongue  veers  off  and  skirts  the  quick? 
Do  I  not  hear  the  words  you  dare  not  speak 
Thunder  above  your  speech?   Do  not  your  eyes 
Hover  and  flinch  and  crawl  upon  my  brow, 
Seeking,  and  shuddering  off  to  turn  again 

In  sick  and  deadly  search?  —  Look  then!     T  is 

here. 

He  pushes  back  the  head-band,  baring  the  sign. 
It  is  not  faded,  though  these  hands  have  shed 
Rivers  of  kindred  blood  to  wash  it  off. 

—  T  was  this  you  came  for :  bring  your  errand  full. 
Look  and  begone! 

Eve,  staring  at  the  Sign,  has  fainted.  Her  head  drops 
on  Cains  shoulder.  He  tries  to  lift  her  head. 


436  THE  DEATH   OF  EVE         [ACT  I 

Pitiful  God,  not  this! 

She  could  not  come  after  the  endless  years, 
To  go  so  soon.  —  Mother,  thou  wilt  not  deal 
Thus  much  unkindness  to  an  unkind  son, 
As  leave  him  when  harsh  words  were  on  his  lips. 
Of  old,  when  in  our  rage  we  thrust  thee  out, 
Thou  wouldst  return  again,  unreconciled 
To  harshness  and  to  wrath.   O  do  it  now, 
In  pity! 

EVE. 
Waking. 

Where  am  I  ? 

CAIN. 

Thou  living  Dread, 
Whose  fountains  yet  flow  mercy ! 

EVE. 

What  hath  passed?  — 
A  faintness  overfell  me.   Often  of  late, 
But  never  quite  so  deep,  so  heavy  deep. 
I  am  far  come,  child.    Lead  me  to  thy  house. 
Much  must  be  said,  but  there  is  time  for  all. 
Nothing  in  haste;  nothing  before  its  hour. 

CAIN. 
Wait  till  I  call  my  people. 


ACT  i]         THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  437 

EVE. 

Rising. 

I  am  strong. 

We  will  go  up  together.  —  I  have  dreamed 

Of  this  our  going-in,  and  spite  of  all 

'T  is  very  like  my  dream,  yea,  very  like.  - 

Thy  people  cursed  me,  stoned  and  thrust  me  down ; 

But  now  I  walk  under  thy  mighty  shadow.  - 

She  pauses  in  their  ascent,  and  looks  out  over  the  desert. 

Where  will  my  children  be? 

CAIN. 

Thy  children,  mother? 

EVE. 

Jubal,  my  travel-mate,  a  stripling  boy 
But  great  of  heart;  and  Abdera,  thy  maid. 

CAIN. 

Mine? 

EVE. 

So :  thou  hast  forgot  or  never  knew. 
Leave  them ;  no  matter  where.  They  cannot  stray. 
The  sun  will  shepherd  them. 

CAIN. 

The  sun  is  set. 


438  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE        [ACT  i 

EVE. 

The  stars,  then,  pouring  influence.  —  Lead  me  on. 

Art  thou  faint,  also?  Two  can  make  a  strength. 

They  begin  to  mount  tJie  steps.  Above,  Azrael,  the  Death 
Angel,  appears,  slowly  descending,  as  from  the  city. 
With  his  left  hand  he  clasps  to  Ids  breast  the  hilt  of  a 
long  sword ;  in  his  right  he  holds  a  stalk  of  flower 
ing  asphodel.  Eve,  seeing  him,  shrinks  back,  draw 
ing  Cain  with  her.  Azrael,  gazing  at  the  pair,  lifts 
the  asphodel  and  descends  to  the  left  by  a  desert  path, 
disappearing  behind  the  Seat  of  Supplication.  Eve 
gazes  at  the  apparition  in  terrified  silence,  points  at 
it  as  it  disappears,  then  hides  her  head  in  Cains 
breast. 

CAIN. 

What  ails  thee,  mother?    Why  dost  thou  point 

and  peer 
And  shrink  away  — ? 

EVE. 
Whispers. 

Saw'st  nothing? 

CAIN. 

Where? 
EVE. 

Pointing. 

Yonder. 
And  there,  and  yonder. 


ACT  I]         THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  439 

CAIN. 

Nothing. 

EVE. 

Look  again! 

Eve  stands  with  face  averted,  while  Cain  peers  over 
where  the  path  behind  the  Seat  of  Supplication  de 
scends  hidden  to  the  plain. 

CAIN. 
Two  by  the  sheep-wells  walking. 

EVE. 

Two? 

CAIN. 

Thine  eyes! 
Thy  lips,  mother! 

EVE. 

How  many  did  ye  say? 
CAIN. 


Twain,  boy  and  girl. 


EVE. 
Lord,  Lord! 

CAIN. 

Mother,  thy  face  — ? 


I 


440  THE   DEATH   OF  EVE        [ACT  i 

EVE. 
And  this  my  son  saw  nothing! 

CAIN. 

What  should  I  sec? 

EVE. 
Nothing.  —  I  praise  Him.   Long  years  yet  for 

thee,  - 
Fair  years,  till  then.  —  Nothing.    I  praise  Him! 

CAIN. 

Thou  hast  endured  too  much.    If  in  her  house 
And  throne  of  rule  that  sovereign  mind  be  shaken, 
Yet  night  and  sleep  and  the  new-risen  day  — 

EVE. 

Nor  night  nor  day  can  help  me  who  have  seen 
The  angel  of  the  Lord,  the  summoner. 
There,  there  he  stood,  and  lifted  slowly  up 
His  pallid  flower,  and  without  speech  said , ' '  Come ! ' ' 
As  once  before  in  Adam's  tent  he  did, 
And  Eve,  beholding,  rose  and  fled  away, 
To  look  on  thee  ere  darkness.   Son,  thou  strength, 
Spread  thy  strong  hands  o'er  this  rebellious  head, 
That  our  two  strengths  yet  for  a  little  while 
May  hold  against  Jehovah!   My  fierce  son, 


ACT  I]         THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  441 

Thou  burning  flame  from  childhood,  look  on  me 
And  say  that  thou  wilt  do  it,  though  the  skies 
Open  to  warn  us  back!  Thy  promise,  Cain! 

CAIN. 

What  would  ye  of  me,  that  these  opening  skies 
And  that  up-startled  Wrath  —  ? 

EVE. 

I  had  a  son 

Who  questioned  his  own  wrath,  the  skies  thereof, 
His  own  heart's  wrathful  skies,  what  they  were 

prone  to, 

And  seeing  where  his  will  went,  followed  it. 
I  came  to  find  that  son.   And  shall  I  find  him 
But  as  the  rest,  whose  marrow  in  their  bones 
Curdles  to  hear  Eve's  whisper?  Nay,  thou  Cain, 
Whose  soul  is  as  a  torch  blown  back  for  speed, 
'T  is  thou  shalt  light  me  on  that  fearful  way 
That  I  must  go,  and  that  I  haste  to  go 
Ere  darkness  falls  forever. 

CAIN. 

Though  Cain  were  still 

That  flame  which  once  he  was,  how  should  he 
light  thee, 


442  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE         [ACT  i 

Not  knowing  of  thy  way  nor  of  thine  errand? 
Fearful?  And  be  it  so.   My  goings-out 
And  comings-in  be  fearful.   Tell  me  plain. 

EVE. 

Plain  will  I  tell  thee,  son.  —  There  was  a  place  — 
There  was  a  place  —  and  it  will  still  be  there, 
For  nightly  I  am  told  so  —  there  is  a  place 
That  once  — 

CAIN. 
Mother! 

EVE. 

That  once  I  knew  — 

CAIN. 

0  woman! 
EVE. 
Thou  sayest.  —  A  place  that  Eve  the  woman 

knew, 

Once,  far  off,  long  ago,  when  she  was  young  - 
With  him  - 

CAIN. 
Hush! 

EVE. 

Young  with  him  — 


ACT  I]         THE   DEATH  OF  EVE  443 

CAIN. 

Wilt  thou  be  still? 

EVE. 
Adam  the  man — 

CAIN. 
Woe  on  thee! 

EVE. 

Him  the  man 

And  her  the  woman,  in  their  ignorance  — 
And  still  it  waits  there,  waits  for  her  to  come, 
Now  she  has  gathered  up  a  little  knowledge.  - 
Be  patient,  child.  —  See,  I  am  very  patient. 
I  tell  thee  quietly  I  would  go  thither; 
Ere  darkness  falls,  Eve  must  go  back  again.- 
She  hath  an  errand. 

CAIN. 

Will  thy  lips  cease  now, 
Ere  they  bring  doomsday  down? 

EVE. 

Hast  ever  —  listen  - 
Hast  ever,  in  thy  desert  wanderings, 
Seen,  or  had  news?  Seen  mayhap  afar  off  — ? 


444  THE   DEATH   OF   EVE        [ACT  I 

CAIN. 

Once,  once! 

EVE. 
Far  off?  Or  near  to? 

CAIN. 

Near  enough. 
EVE. 
Ye  stood  and  saw? 

CAIN. 

Yea,  verily. 

EVE. 

How  near? 

CAIN. 

Flesh  goes  not  nearer  than  this  flesh  went  near, 
Yet  't  was  far  off. 

EVE. 
How  far? 

CAIN. 

Far  as  a  hawk 

Up-wind  can  keep  his  wings  set. 

EVE. 

Very  near! 
—  Saw'st  thou  — ? 


ACT  I]         THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  445 

CAIN. 

O  mother,  hush  on  what  I  saw! 
Hush,  for  thy  life's  sake,  for  thy  reason's  sake. 

—  Night  falls.  Lean  on  me;  let  me  lead   thee 

home. 

EVE. 

Home  thou  must  lead  me,  to  that  wondrous  home 
That  was  and  is  and  shall  be  till  I  come. 

—  Turn  not  away  so!  —  Touching  this  same  jour 

ney, 

I  humbly  do  beseech  thee,  look  thereon, 
And  be  well  pleased  to  lend  thy  royal  favor, 
Thereto  the  needed  beasts  and  muniments 
Proportioned  to  the  distance  and  the  time; 
This  only  being  besought,  that  my  twain  children, 
Jubal  and  her,  go  up  with  me  along 
Into  the  gaze  and  silence  of  the  Lord, 
And  that  our  starting  be  by  dawn  to-morrow.  - 
Unless,  by  favor,  thy  decreeing  lips 
ShoukTbreathe  "To-night "  and  do  it.  Might  it  be? 
'T  is  but  an  hour  to  moonrise,  and  the  moon 
Is  at  her  full,  or  nearly.  Say'st  " To-night?" 
Aye,  aye,  thy  silence  cries  I  have  a  son ! 

—  To-night!  That  is  right  royal. 


446  THE  DEATH  OF   EVE        [ACT  i 

CAIN. 

Neither  to-night, 

Nor  yet  to-morrow,  nor  the  day  to  come, 
Nor  any  day  till  Cain,  Eve's  bloody  son, 
Gone  brain-sick  as  his  dam  -       Call  to  him  then 
And  haply  he  will  hear  thee  where  he  raves 
Above  his  moaning  nation !  But  for  now  — 

EVE. 

Now,  even  now.  So,  I  beseech  no  more. 
But  lay  on  thee  my  still  and  high  command. 

CAIN. 
I  will  not  hear  thee;  cannot,  dare  not  hear! 

EVE. 

Thou  wilt  not  hear  me?  Yea,  but  thou  wilt  hear! 
Thy  ears  be  not  thy  ears.    I  moulded  them. 
Thy  life  is  not  thy  life.   I  gave  it  thee, 
And  do  require  it  back.   Thy  beating  heart 
Beats  not  unto  itself,  but  unto  me, 
Whose  voice  did  tell  it  when  to  beat  and  how. 
Thy  deeds  are  not  thy  deeds.  Ye  conned  them  here, 
Under  this  breast,  where  lay  great  store  of  deeds 
Undone,  for  thee  to  choose  from. 
She  uncovers  the  Sign  on  his  forehead. 


ACT  I]        THE  DEATH  OF  EVE  447 

*T  is  not  thy  head 

Weareth  this  Sign.    'T  is  my  most  cruel  head, 
Whose  cruel  hand,  whose  swift  and  bloody  hand 
Smote  in  its  rage  my  own  fair  man-child  down. 
Not  thy  hand,  Cain,  not  thine ;  but  my  dark  hand ; 
And  my  dark  forehead  wears  the  sign  thereof, 
As  now  I  take  it  on  me. 
She  kisses  him  on  the  Sign. 

CAIN. 

With  bowed  head. 

Peace,  at  last. 
After  these  struggles,  peace. 

EVE. 

At  dawn,  O  Cain? 

CAIN. 
Whenever  and  wherever. 

EVE. 

My  great  son ! 

Cain  and  Eve  mount  toward  the  gate,  and  pass  through, 
out  of  sight.  Jubal  and  Abdera  appear  from  the  val 
ley,  behind  the  Seat  of  Supplication,  and  mount 
toward  the  city.  Under  the  gate  Jubal  stops  and 
looks  over  the  desert. 


448  THE  DEATH  OF  EVE        [ACT  I 

JUBAL. 

O  Abdera,  the  strangeness  of  the  world. 

ABDERA. 

Not  strange.  —  Strange,  strange  before ;  no  lon 
ger  so. 

JUBAL. 

Look  where  the  star  leans  flaming  from  his  throne 
And  viewless  worlds  are  suppliant  in  his  porches. 
They  pass  through  the  gate  and  disappear,  climbing  up 
ward. 


END   OF   VOLUME   I 


14  DAY  USE 

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